S  JL  Al. 


THE   LONG   ROLL.     The  first   of  two  books  dealing 

with  the  war  between  the  States.  With  Illustrations 

in  color  by  N  C.  WYETH. 
CEASE  FIRING.  The  second  of  two  books  dealing 

with  the  war  between  the  States.  With  Illustrations 

in  color  by  N.  C.  WYETH. 
LEWIS  RAND.  With  Illustrations  in  color  by  F.  C. 

YOHN. 

AUDREY.    With  Illustrations  in  color  by  F.  C.  YOHN. 

PRISONERS  OF  HOPE.     With  Frontispiece. 

TO  HAVE  AND  TO   HOLD.     With  8  Illustrations  by 

HOWARD  PYLE,  E.  B.  THOMPSON,  A.  W.  BETTS,  and 

EMLEN  MCDONNELL. 

THE  GODDESS  OF  REASON.     A  Drama. 

HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


/  0  I 


CEASE  FIRING 


THE   ROAD   TO   VIDALIA 


CEASE  FIRING 

BY  MARY  JOHNSTON 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY  N.   C.  WYETH 


HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK  ::  THE 

RIVERSIDE    PRESS   CAMBRIDGE 

1912 


COPYRIGHT,    1912,    BY  MARY  JOHNSTON 
ALL  RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  November  iqi2 


tfje  Memory  of 

JOHN    WILLIAM   JOHNSTON 
MAJOR   OF   ARTILLERY,  C.  S.  A. 

AND    OF 

JOSEPH  EGGLESTON   JOHNSTON 
GENERAL,  C.  S.  A. 


9447*77 


CONTENTS 

I.  THE  ROAD  TO  VIDALIA I 

II.  CAPE  JESSAMINE  .  .  .11 

III.  VICKSBURG        .  .  .     24 

IV.  CHICKASAW  BAYOU       ....  36 
V.  FORT  PEMBERTON 46 

VI.  THE  RIVER  ...  58 

VII.  PORT  GIBSON 69 

VIII.  IN  VIRGINIA 81 

IX.  THE  STONEWALL      ...  '95 

X.  THE  BULLETIN 108 

XL  PRISON  X          ....  .115 

XII.  THE  SIEGE 128 

XIII.  ACROSS  THE  POTOMAC      .        .  .141 

XIV.  THE  CAVE     ....  156 
XV.  GETTYSBURG     ...                 .  .166 

XVI.  BACK  HOME 178 

XVII.  BREAD  CAST  ON  WATER  .         .         .        .  .  191 

XVIII.  THREE  OAKS 204 

XIX.  THE  COLONEL  OF  THE  SIXTY-FIFTH         .  .215 

XX.  CHICKAMAUGA 225 

XXI.  MISSIONARY  RIDGE  ...  .  240 

XXII.  DALTON  .        ...        .        •        .253 


viii  CONTENTS 

XXIII.  THE  ROAD  TO  RESACA       ....  265 

XXIV.  THE  GUNS 279 

XXV.  THE  WILDERNESS       .....  287 

XXVI.  THE  BLOODY  ANGLE       ....       298 

XXVII.  RICHMOND  .         .     ;  '"'.        .  '      .        .         .  306 

XXVIII.  COLD  HARBOUR      ...         .        .       314 

XXIX.  LITTLE  PUMPKIN-VINE  CREEK  .        .        .321 

XXX.  KENNESAW 329 

XXXI.  THUNDER  RUN 340 

XXXII.  HUNTER'S  RAID 347 

XXXIII.  BACK  HOME 354 

XXXIV.  THE  ROAD  TO  WASHINGTON  ...       364 
XXXV.  THE  CRATER 372 

XXXVI.  THE  VALLEY .382 

XXXVII.  CEDAR  CREEK 392 

XXXVIII.  THE  ARMY  OF  TENNESSEE     ...       405 

XXXIX.  COLUMBIA 416 

XL.  THE  ROAD  TO  WINNSBORO'    .        .         .      427 

XLI.  THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END     .         .         .  440 

XLII.  APRIL,  1865 45° 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

THE  ROAD  TO  VIDALIA  (page  3)         ...  Frontispiece 

SHARPSHOOTERS 128 

THE  BLOODY  ANGLE 302 

THE  SCOUT 392 

From  drawings  by  N.  C.  Wyeth 


r-p. 


CEASE  FIRING 

CHAPTER   I 

THE   ROAD   TO   VIDALIA 

river  ran  several  thousand  miles,  from  a  land  of  snow 
and  fir  trees  and  brief  summers  to  a  land  of  long,  long 

A  summers,  cane  and  orange.  The  river  was  wide.  It  dealt 
in  loops  and  a  tortuous  course,  and  for  the  most  part  it  was  yellow 
and  turbid  and  strong  of  current.  There  were  sandbars  in  the 
river,  there  were  jewelled  islands ;  there  were  parallel  swamps, 
lakes,  and  bayous.  From  the  border  of  these,  and  out  of  the  water, 
rose  tall  trees,  starred  over,  in  their  season,  with  satiny  cups  or 
disks,  flowers  of  their  own  or  vast  flowering  vines,  networks  of  lan 
guid  bloom.  The  Spanish  moss,  too,  swayed  from  the  trees,  and 
about  their  knees  shivered  the  canebrakes.  Of  a  remarkable  person 
ality  throughout,  in  its  last  thousand  miles  the  river  grew  unique. 
Now  it  ran  between  bluffs  of  coloured  clay,  and  now  it  flowed  above 
the  level  of  the  surrounding  country.  You  did  not  go  down  to  the 
river:  you  went  up  to  the  river,  the  river  caged  like  a  tiger  behind 
the  levees.  Time  of  flood  was  the  tiger's  time.  Down  went  the  levee 
—  widened  in  an  instant  the  ragged  crevasse  —  out  came  the 
beast!  — 

December,  along  the  stretch  of  the  Mississippi  under  considera 
tion,  was  of  a  weather  nearly  like  a  Virginian  late  autumn.  In  the 
river  towns  and  in  the  plantation  gardens  roses  yet  bloomed.  In  the 
fields  the  cotton  should  have  been  gathered,  carried  —  all  the  silver 
stuff  —  in  wagons,  or  in  baskets  on  the  heads  of  negroes,  to  the  gin- 
houses.  This  December  it  was  not  so.  It  was  the  December  of  1862. 
Life,  as  it  used  to  be,  had  disintegrated.  Life,  as  it  was,  left  the  fields 
un tended  and  the  harvest  ungathered.  Why  pick  cotton  when  there 
was  nowhere  to  send  it  ?  The  fields  stayed  white. 


CEASE  FIRING 

The  stately,  leisurely  steamers,  the  swan-like  white  packets,  were 
gone  from  the  river;  gone  were  the  barges,  the  flatboats  and  freight 
boats;  gone  were  the  ferries.  No  more  at  night  did  there  come 
looming  —  from  up  the  stream,  from  down  the  stream  —  the  giant 
shapes,  friendly,  myriad-lighted.  No  more  did  swung  torches  reveal 
the  long  wharves,  while  the  deep  whistle  blew,  and  the  smokestack 
sent  out  sparks,  and  the  negro  roustabouts  sang  as  they  made  her 
fast.  No  more  did  the  planter  come  aboard,  and  the  planter's 
daughter;  no  more  was  there  music  of  stringed  instruments,  nor  the 
aroma  of  the  fine  cigar,  nor  sweet  drawling  voices.  The  planter  was 
at  the  front;  and  the  planter's  daughter  had  too  much  upon  her 
hands  to  leave  the  plantation,  even  if  there  had  been  a  place  to  go  to. 
As  it  happened  there  was  none. 

Farragut,  dressed  in  blue,  ruled  the  river  upward  from  the  Gulf 
and  New  Orleans  to  Baton  Rouge.  Porter,  dressed  in  blue, 
ruled  it  downward  from  Cairo  to  Grand  Lake.  Their  steam 
frigates,  corvettes,  and  sloops-of-war,  their  ironclads,  tinclads, 
gunboats,  and  rams  flew  the  Stars  and  Stripes.  Between  Grand 
Lake  and  Baton  Rouge  the  river  was  Confederate,  unconquered 
yet,  beneath  the  Stars  and  Bars.  They  flew  from  land  and  water 
defences  at  Vicksburg,  from  the  batteries  up  the  Yazoo,  from 
Natchez  and  the  works  on  the  Red  River,  and  the  entrenchments 
at  Port  Hudson.  They  flew  from  the  few,  few  remaining  grey 
craft  of  war,  from  the  transports,  the  cotton-clads,  the  Vicksburg, 
the  De  Soto,  the  gunboat  Grand  Duke,  the  ram  Webb.  Tawny 
and  strong  ran  the  Mississippi,  by  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  by  the 
Stars  and  Bars. 

It  had  rained  and  rained.  All  the  swamps  were  up,  the  bayous 
overflowing.  The  tiger,  too,  was  out;  now  here,  now  there.  That 
other  tiger,  War,  was  abroad,  and  he  aided  in  breaking  levees.  On 
the  Mississippi  side,  on  the  Louisiana  side,  bottom  lands  were  brim 
ming.  Cottonwood,  red  gum,  china  trees,  cypress  and  pine  stood  up, 
drenched  and  dismal,  from  amber  sheets  and  eddies,  specked  with 
foam.  The  clouds  hung  dark  and  low.  There  was  a  small,  chill, 
mournful  wind.  The  roads,  trampled  and  scored  by  eighteen  months 
of  war,  were  little,  if  any,  better  than  no  roads. 

A  detachment  of  grey  infantry  and  a  section  of  artillery,  coming 
up  on  the  Louisiana  side  from  the  Red  River  with  intent  to  cross  at 


THE   ROAD   TO   VIDALIA  3 

Vidalia  and  proceed  from  Natchez  to  Vicksburg,  found  them  so. 
In  part  the  detail  was  from  a  regiment  of  A.  P.  Hill's,  transferred 
the  preceding  month  from  Fredericksburg  in  Virginia  to  Vicksburg 
in  Mississippi,  sent  immediately  from  Vicksburg  toward  Red  River, 
it  being  rumoured  that  Farragut  meant  a  great  attack  there,  and 
almost  immediately  summoned  back,  Secret  Service  having  deter 
mined  that  Grant  at  Oxford  meant  a  descent  upon  Vicksburg.  The 
detachment  was  making  a  forced  march  and  making  it  through  a 
Slough  of  Despond.  The  no-roads  were  bottomless;  the  two  guns 
mired  and  mired;  the  straining  horses  could  do  little,  however  good 
their  will.  Infantry  had  to  help,  put  a  shoulder  to  wheel  and  caisson. 
Infantry  was  too  tired  to  say  much,  but  what  it  said  was  heartfelt, 
—  "  Got  the  right  name  for  these  States  when  they  called  them  Gulf 
States!  If  we  could  only  telegraph  to  China  they  might  pull  that 
gun  out  on  that  side ! "  —  "  O  God !  for  the  Valley  Pike ! "  —  "  Don't 
say  things  like  that!  Homesickness  would  be  the  last  straw.  If 
anybody's  homesick,  don't,  for  the  Lord's  sake,  let  on!  ...  Get 
up,  Patsy!  Get  up,  Pansy!  Get  up,  Sorrel!"  .  .  .  " Look-a-here, 
Artillery !  If  it 's  just  the  same  to  you,  we  wish  you  'd  call  that  horse 
something  else!  You  see  it  kind  of  brings  a  picture  up.  .  .  .  This 
identical  minute  'Old  Jack's'  riding  Little  Sorrel  up  and  down 
before  Burnside  at  Fredericksburg,  and  we're  not  there  to  see!  .  .  . 
Oh,  it  ain't  your  fault!  You  can't  help  being  Mississippi  and  Louisi 
ana  and  bringing  us  down  to  help !  You  are  all  right  and  you  fight 
like  hell,  and  you  've  got  your  own  quality,  and  we  like  you  first-rate! 
If  we  were  n't  Army  of  Northern  Virginia,  we  surely  would  choose 
to  be  Army  of  Tennessee  and  the  Southwest  —  so  there 's  no  need 
for  you  to  get  wrathy!  .  .  .  Only  we  would  be  obliged  to  you  if 
you'd  change  the  name  of  that  horse!" 

The  clouds  broke  in  a  bitter  downpour.  "Ooooh-h!  Country  's 
turned  over  and  river  's  on  top !  Get  up,  Patsy  !  Get  up,  Pansy  I  Get 
up  —  This  ain't  a  mud-hole,  it 's  a  bayou!  God  knows,  if  I  lived  in 
this  country  I'd  tear  all  that  long,  waving,  black  moss  out  of  the 
trees!  It  gives  me  the  horrors."  —  "Get  on,  men!  get  on/"  — 
"Captain,  we  can't!" 

Pioneers  came  back.    "It's  a  bayou  —  but  there's  a  corduroy 
bridge,  not  more  than  a  foot  under  water." 

Infantry  crossed,  the  two  guns  crossed.   Beyond  the  arm  of  the 


4  CEASE   FIRING 

bayou  the  earth  was  mere  quaking  morass.  The  men  cut  canes, 
armfuls  and  armfuls  of  canes,  threw  the  bundles  down,  and  made 
some  sort  of  roadbed.  Over  it  came  those  patient,  famished,  piteous 
soldiers,  the  horses,  and  behind  them,  heavily,  heavily  through  the 
thickened  mire,  guns  and  caissons.  Gun  and  wheel  and  caisson  were 
all  plastered  with  mud,  not  an  inch  of  bright  metal  showing.  The 
horses,  too,  were  all  masked  and  splashed.  The  men  were  in  no  better 
case,  wet  through,  covered  from  head  to  foot  with  mud  and  mire, 
the  worn,  worn  uniforms  worsened  yet  by  thorn  and  briar  from  the 
tangled  forest.  The  water  dripped  from  the  rifles,  stock  and  barrel, 
the  water  dripped  from  the  furled  and  covered  colours.  The  men's 
shoes  were  very  bad;  only  a  few  had  overcoats.  The  clouds  were 
leaden,  the  rain  streamed,  the  comfortless  day  was  drawing  down. 
The  detachment  came  into  a  narrow,  somewhat  firmer  road  set  on 
either  hand  with  tall  cypresses  and  water  oaks,  from  every  limb  of 
which  hung  the  grey  moss,  long,  cre'pe-like,  swaying  in  the  chill  and 
fretting  wind.  "For  the  Lord's  sake,"  said  Virginia  in  Louisiana, 
"sing  something!" 
A  man  in  the  colour  guard  started  "Roll,  Jordan,  roll"  — 

"  I  want  to  get  to  Heaven  when  I  die,  — 
To  hear  Jordan  roll!" 

The  line  protested.  "Don't  sing  about  a  river!  There's  river 
enough  in  ours  now !  —  That  darkey,  back  there,  said  the  levees 
were  breaking." 

"Moses  went  up  to  de  mountain  top  — 

Land  of  Canaan,  Canaan  Land, 
Moses  went  up  to  de  mountain  top  — " 

"Don't  sing  that  either!  We're  nine  hundred  miles  from  the 
Blue  Ridge  and  Canaan  Land.  .  .  .  Sech  a  fool  to  sing  about 
mountains  and  home!" 

"Well,"  said  Colour  Guard,  "that  was  what  I  was  thinking  about. 
If  anybody  knows  a  cheerful  hymn,  I  '11  be  glad  if  he  '11  line  it  out  —  " 

"Don't  sing  a  hymn,"  said  the  men.  "Sing  something  gay. 
Edward  Gary,  you  sing  something." 

"All  right,"  said  Edward.  "What  do  you  want?" 

"Anything  that'll  light  a  fire  in  the  rain!  Sing  us  something 
funny.  Sing  us  a  story." 

"There  was  a  ram  of  Derby," 


THE   ROAD   TO   VIDALIA  5 

sang  Edward  — 

"As  I  have  heard  it  said, 
That  was  the  fattest  ram,  sir, 
That  ever  had  a  head  — " 

The  cypress  wood  ended.  They  came  out  into  vast  cotton-fields 
where  the  drowning  bolls,  great  melancholy  snowflakes,  clung  to  the 
bushes,  idle  as  weeds,  careless  of  famine  in  mill-towns  oversea.  The 
water  stood  between  the  rows,  rows  that  ran  endlessly,  cut  from 
sight  at  last  by  a  whirling  and  formless  grey  vapour. 

"The  fleece  that  grew  on  that  ram,  sir, 

It  grew  so  mighty  high, 
The  eagles  built  their  nest  in  it, 

For  I  heard  the  young  ones  cry. 
And  if  you  don't  believe  me, 

Or  think  I  tell  a  lie, 
Why,  just  look  down  to  Derby 

And  see  as  well  as  I!" 

The  land  was  as  flat  as  Holland,  but  the  rank  forest,  the  growth 
about  the  wandering  arms  of  bayous  breathed  of  another  clime.  The 
rain  came  down  as  in  the  rainy  season,  the  wind  was  mounting,  the 
wings  of  the  dusk  flapping  nearer. 

"Get  on,  men,  get  on!  We're  miles  from  Vidalia." 

"The  horns  that  grew  on  that  ram,  sir, 

They  grew  up  to  the  moon, 
A  man  went  up  in  December 
And  did  n't  come  down  till  June! 

"Look  out,  Artillery!  There's  water  under  those  logs!" 

The  horses  and  the  first  gun  got  across  the  rotting  logs  roofing 
black  water,  infantry  helping,  tugging,  pushing,  beating  down  the 
cane. 

"  Shades  of  night,  where  are  we  anyhow?  Cane  rattling  and  the 
moss  waving  and  water  bubbling  —  is  it  just  another  damned  bayou 
or  the  river?  .  .  .  And  all  the  flat  ground  and  the  strange  trees  .  .  . 
My  head  is  turning  round." 

"It's  Bayou  Jessamine,"  volunteered  an  artilleryman.  He  spoke 
in  a  drawling  voice.  "We  aren't  far  from  the  river,  or  the  river 
is  n't  far  from  us,  for  I  think  the  river's  out.  It  appears  to  me  that 
you  Virginians  grumble  a  lot.  There  is  n't  anything  the  matter  with 
this  country.  It's  as  good  a  country  as  God's  got.  Barksdale's  men 
and  the  Washington  Artillery  are  always  writing  back  that  Virginia 


6  CEASE   FIRING 

can't  hold  a  candle  to  it  ...  Whoa,  there,  Whitefoot!  Whoa, 
Dick!" 

The  second  gun  had  come  upon  the  raft  of  logs.  A  log  slipped, 
a  wheel  went  down,  gun  and  caisson  tilted  —  artillery  and  infantry 
surged  to  the  aid  of  the  endangered  piece.  A  second  log  slipped, 
the  wheel  beneath  the  caisson  went  down,  the  loaded  metal  chest 
jerked  forward,  striking  forehead  and  shoulder  of  one  of  the  aid 
ing  infantrymen.  The  blow  was  heavy  and  stretched  the  soldier 
senseless,  half  in  the  black  water,  half  across  the  treacherous  logs. 
Amid  ejaculations,  oaths,  shouted  orders,  guns  and  caisson  were 
righted,  the  horses  urged  forward,  the  piece  drawn  clear  of  the 
bayou.  Down  came  the  rain  as  though  the  floodgates  of  heaven 
were  opened;  nearer  and  nearer  flapped  the  dusk.  .  .  . 

Edward  Gary,  coming  to  himself,  thought,  on  the  crest  of  a  low 
wave  of  consciousness,  of  Greenwood  in  Virginia  and  of  the  shepherds 
and  shepherdesses  in  the  drawing-room  paper.  He  seemed  to  see  his 
grandfather's  portrait,  and  he  thought  that  the  young  man  in  the 
picture  had  put  out  a  hand  and  drawn  him  from  the  bayou.  Then  he 
sank  into  the  trough  of  the  sea  and  all  again  was  black.  The  next 
wave  was  higher.  He  saw  with  distinctness  that  he  was  in  a  firelit 
cabin,  and  that  an  old  negro  was  battling  with  a  door  which  the 
wind  would  not  let  shut.  The  hollow  caught  him  again,  but  proved  a 
momentary  prison.  He  opened  his  eyes  fully  and  presently  spoke  to 
the  two  soldiers  who  hugged  the  fire  before  which  he  was  lying. 

"You  two  fellows  in  a  cloud  of  steam,  did  we  lose  the  gun  ?" 

The  two  turned,  gratified  and  congratulatory.  "No,  no,  we  did 
n't  lose  it !  Glad  you  've  waked  up,  Edward !  Caisson  struck  you, 
knocked  you  into  the  bayou,  y '  know!  Fished  you  out  and  brought 
you  on  till  we  came  to  this  cabin.  Company  had  to  march  away. 
Could  n't  wait  —  dark  coming  and  the  Mississippi  gnawing  holes 
out  of  the  land  like  a  rat  out  of  a  cheese  !  The  boys  have  been 
gone  twenty  minutes.  Powerful  glad  you've  come  back  to  us! 
We'd  have  missed  you  like  sixty!  Captain  says  he  hopes  you  can 
march!" 

Edward  sat  up,  then  lay  down  again  upon  the  pallet.  "I've  got  a 
singing  head,"  he  said  dreamily.  "What's  involved  in  my  staying 
here?" 

His  comrades  laughed,  they  were  so  glad  to  hear  him  talking. 


THE   ROAD   TO   VIDALIA  7 

"Told  Kirk  you  couldn't  march  yet  awhile!  You  got  an  awful 
blow.  Only,  we  can't  stay  with  you  —  that's  involved!  Captain's 
bent  on  making  Vidalia.  Orders  are  to  bring  you  on  if  you  can 
march,  and  if  you  can't  to  double-quick  it  ourselves  and  catch 
up !  Says  Grant 's  going  to  invest  Vicksburg  and  he  can't  spare  even 
Kirk  and  me.  You're  to  come  on  as  quick  as  you  can,  and  rejoin 
wherever  we  are.  Says  nobody  ever  had  a  better  headpiece  than 
you,  and  that  you'll  walk  in  somewhere  that  is  n't  at  the  end  of  the 
procession!" 

The  night  descended.  Edward  lay  half  asleep  upon  the  pallet, 
in  the  light  of  the  pine  knots  with  which  the  negro  fed  the  fire.  The 
rushing  in  his  head  was  going,  the  nausea  passing,  the  warmth  was 
sweet,  bed  was  sweet,  rest,  rest,  rest  was  sweet!  The  old  negro  went 
to  and  fro,  or  sat  upon  a  bench  beside  the  glowing  hearth. 

After  his  kind  he  communed  with  himself  half  aloud,  a  slow  stream 
of  comment  and  interrogation.  Before  long  he  took  from  some  mys 
terious  press  a  little  corn  meal  and  a  small  piece  of  bacon.  The  meal 
he  stirred  with  water  and  made  into  thin  pones,  which  he  baked  upon 
a  rusty  piece  of  tin  laid  on  a  bed  of  coals.  Then  he  found  a  broken 
knife  and  cut  a  few  rashers  of  bacon  and  fried  them  in  an  ancient 
skillet.  The  cabin  filled  with  a  savoury  odor!  Edward  turned  on  the 
pallet.  "Uncle,  are  you  cooking  for  two?" 

The  meal,  his  first  that  day,  restored  him  to  himself.  By  now  it 
took  much  to  kill  or  permanently  disable  a  Confederate  soldier.  Life 
forever  out  of  doors,  the  sky  for  roof,  the  earth  for  bed,  spare  and 
simple  diet,  body  trained  and  exercised,  senses  cleared  and  nerves 
braced  by  danger  grown  the  element  in  which  he  moved  and  had  his 
being,  hope  rising  clear  from  much  reason  for  despair,  ideality  intact 
in  the  midst  of  grimmest  realities,  a  mind  made  up,  cognizant  of 
great  issues  and  the  need  of  men  —  the  Confederate  soldier  had  no 
intention  of  dying  before  his  time.  Nowadays  it  took  a  bullet  through 
heart  or  head  to  give  a  man  his  quietus.  The  toppling  caisson  and  the 
bayou  had  failed  to  give  Edward  Gary  his. 

The  young  white  man  and  the  old  negro  shared  scrupulously  be 
tween  them  the  not  over-great  amount  of  corn  bread  and  bacon.  The 
negro  placed  Edward's  portion  before  him  on  a  wooden  stool  and  took 
his  own  to  the  bench  beside  the  hearth.  The  wind  blew,  the  rain 
dashed  against  the  hut,  the  flames  leaped  from  resinous  pine  knot  to 
pine  knot.  ..— 


8  CEASE  FIRING 

Supper  finished,  talk  began.  "How  far  from  the  river  are  we?" 

"Ef  you'll  tell  'Rasmus,  sah,  'Rasmus '11  tell  you!  En  rights  hit 
oughter  be  two  miles,  but  I's  got  er  kind  ob  notion  dat  de  ribber's 
done  crope  nigher." 

Edward  listened  to  the  wind  and  rain.  "What's  to  hinder  it  from 
coming  nigher  yet  ?" 

"Nothin',  sah." 

The  young  man  got  up,  somewhat  unsteadily,  from  the  pallet,  and 
with  his  hand  against  the  wall  moved  to  the  door,  opened  it,  and 
looked  out.  He  shivered,  then  laughed.  "Noah  must  have  seen 
something  like  it  when  he  looked  out  of  the  Ark!"  He  closed  the 
door  with  difficulty. 

Behind  him,  the  negro  continued  to  speak.  "Leastways,  dar's 
only  de  Cape  Jessamine  levee." 

"Cape  Jessamine  ?" 

"DeGaillard  place,  sah." 

With  a  stick  he  drew  lines  in  the  ashes.  "Bayou  heah.  Ribber 
heah.  De  Cun'l  in  between  —  only  right  now  he  way  from  home 
fightin'  de  Yankees  —  he  en'  Marse  Louis.  De  Gaillard  place  — 
Cape  Jessamine.  Hope  dat  levee  won't  break!" 

Edward  came  back  to  the  fire.  "Do  you  belong  to  the  place  ?" 

"No,  sah,  I'se  free.  OF  marster  freed  me.  But  I  goes  dar  mos' 
every  day  en'  takes  advice  en'  draws  my  rations.  No,  sah,  I  don' 
'zactly  belong,  butdey're  my  white  folks.  De  Gaillards  's  de  finest 
kind  dar  is.  Dar  ain't  no  finer." 

Old  man  and  young  man,  dark-skinned  and  light,  African  and 
Aryan,  the  two  rested  by  the  fire.  The  negro  sat,  half  doubled,  his 
hands  between  his  knees,  his  eyes  upon  the  floor  by  the  door.  Now 
he  was  silent,  now  he  muttered  and  murmured.  The  glare  from  the 
pine  knots  beat  upon  his  grey  pate,  upon  his  shirt,  open  over  his 
chest,  and  upon  his  gnarled  and  knotted  hands.  Over  against  him 
half  reclined  the  other,  very  torn  and  muddy,  unshaven,  gaunt,  and 
hollow-eyed,  yet,  indescribably,  carrying  his  rags  as  though  they 
were  purple,  showing  through  fatigue,  deprivation,  and  injury 
something  tireless,  uninjured,  and  undeprived.  He  kept  now  a  some 
what  languid  silence,  idle  in  the  warmth,  his  thoughts  away  from 
the  Mississippi  and  the  night  of  storm.  With  the  first  light  he 
would  quit  the  cabin  and  press  on  after  his  company.  He  thought 


THE   ROAD   TO   VIDALIA  9 

of  the  armies  of  the  Far  South,  of  the  Army  of  Tennessee,  the 
Army  of  the  Trans-Mississippi,  and  he  thought  of  the  fighting  in 
Virginia,  of  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia,  the  army  he  had  quitted 
but  a  few  weeks  before.  He,  too,  that  afternoon,  had  felt  homesick 
for  it,  lying  there  behind  the  hills  to  the  south  of  Fredericksburg, 
waiting  for  Burnside  to  cross  the  Rappahannock !  .  .  .  The  soldier 
must  go  where  he  is  sent!  He  thought  of  his  own  people,  of  his 
father,  of  Fauquier  Gary,  of  Greenwood,  and  his  sisters  there.  He 
should  find  at  Vicksburg  a  letter  from  Judith.  From  the  thought  of 
Judith  he  moved  to  that  of  Richard  Cleave.  .  .  .  Presently,  with 
an  impatient  sigh,  he  shook  himself  free.  Better  think,  to-night,  of 
something  else  than  tragedies  and  mysteries!  He  thought  of  roses 
and  old  songs,  and  deep  forests  and  sunny  childhood  spaces.  He  put 
attention  to  sleep,  diffused  his  mind  and  hovered  in  mere  warmth, 
odors,  and  hues  of  memory  and  imagination.  He  set  faint  silver 
bells  to  ringing,  then,  amid  slow  alternating  waves  of  red  and  purple, 
a  master  violin  to  playing.  Lulled,  lulled  in  the  firelight,  his  eyelids 
drooped.  He  drew  sleeper's  breath. 

" De  water's  comin'  under de  doahl  De  water's  comin'  under  de  doahl ' ' 

The  violin  played  the  strain  for  a  moment,  then  it  appeared  that 
a  string  broke.  Edward  sat  up.  "What's  the  matter  ?  —  Ha,  the 
levee  broke,  did  it?" 

"Hit  ain't  de  river,  hit  am  de  bayou!  De  bayou's  comin'  out,  en' 
ef  you  don'  min',  sah,  we's  obleeged  ter  move!" 

Edward  rose,  stretching  himself.   "Move  where  ?" 

"Ter  Cape  Jessamine,  sah.  Bayou  can't  git  dat  far,  en'  dey  sho' 
ain't  gwine  let  de  river  come  out  ef  dey  kin  help  hit!" 

The  floor  was  ankle  deep  in  yellow  water.  Suddenly  the  door  blew 
open.  There  entered  streaming  rain  and  a  hiss  of  wind.  The  negro, 
gathering  into  a  bundle  his  meagre  wardrobe  and  bedding,  shook  his 
head  and  made  haste.  Edward  took  his  rifle  and  ragged  hat.  The 
water  deepened  and  put  the  fire  out.  The  two  men  emerged  from  the 
cabin  into  a  widening  lake,  seething  and  eddying  between  the  dark 
trees.  Behind  them  the  hut  tilted  a  little  upon  its  rude  foundation. 
The  negro  looked  back.  "Liked  dat  house,  en'  now  hit's  er-gwine, 
too!  Bayou  never  come  out  lak  dat  befo'  dishyer  war!" 

Out  of  the  knee-deep  water  at  last,  they  struck  into  something 
that  to  the  feet  felt  like  a  road.  On  either  hand  towering  cypresses 


io  CEASE   FIRING 

made  the  intense  night  intenser.  It  was  intense,  and  yet  out  of  the 
bosom  of  the  clouds,  athwart  the  slant  rain,  came  at  times  effects  of 
light.  One  saw  and  one  did  not  see;  there  was  a  sense  of  dim  revela 
tions,  cloudy  purposes  of  earth,  air,  and  water,  given  and  then  with 
drawn  before  they  could  be  read.  But  there  was  one  thing  heard 
plainly,  and  that  was  the  voice  of  the  Mississippi  River. 

They  were  going  toward  it,  Edward  found.  Once,  in  the  transient 
and  mysterious  lightening  of  the  atmosphere,  he  thought  that  he  saw 
it  gleaming  before  them.  The  impression  was  lost,  but  it  returned. 
He  saw  that  they  were  at  the  base  of  a  tongue  of  land,  set  with 
gigantic  trees,  running  out  into  the  gleaming  that  was  the  river. 
The  two  were  now  upon  slightly  rising  ground,  and  they  had  the 
sweep  of  the  night  before  them. 

"Fo'  Gawd!"  said  the  negro;  "look  at  de  torches  on  de  levee! 
River's  mekkin'  dem  wuhk  fer  dey  livin'  to-night  at  Cape  Jessa 
mine!" 


CHAPTER   II 

CAPE   JESSAMINE 

THE  two  came  from  beneath  the  dripping  trees  out  upon  the 
cleared  bank  of  the  Mississippi,  and  into  a  glare  of  pine 
torches.  The  rain  had  lessened,  the  fitful  wind  beat  the 
flames  sideways,  but  failed  to  conquer  them.  There  was,  too,  a  tar 
barrel  burning.  The  light  was  strong  and  red  enough,  a  pulsing  heart 
of  light  shading  at  its  edges  into  smoky  bronze  and  copper,  then,  a 
little  further,  lost  in  the  wild  night.  The  river  curved  like  a  scimitar, 
and  the  glare  showed  the  turbulent  edge  of  it  and  the  swirling  cross 
current  that  was  setting  a  tooth  into  the  Cape  Jessamine  levee. 

'Rasmus  spoke.  "  Dis  was  always  de  danger  place.  Many  er  time 
I've  seen  de  Cun'l  ride  down  heah,  en'  stand  er-lookin'!" 

There  seemed  as  many  as  a  hundred  negroes.  They  swarmed 
about  the  imperilled  point;  they  went  to  it  in  two  converging  lines. 
Each  man  was  bent  under  a  load  of  something.  He  swung  it  from  his 
shoulder,  straightened  himself,  and  hurried,  right  or  left,  back  to 
shadowy  heaps  from  which  he  lifted  another  load.  "  Dey  sho'  gwine 
need  de  sand  bags  dishyer  night!"  said  'Rasmus. 

In  the  leaping  and  hovering  light  the  negroes  looked  gigantic. 
Coal  black,  bending,  lifting,  rushing  forward,  set  about  with  night 
and  the  snarl  of  the  tiger,  they  had  the  seeming  of  genii  from  an 
Eastern  tale.  Their  voices  came  chantingly,  or,  after  a  silence,  in  a 
sudden  shout.  Their  shadows  moved  with  them  on  the  ground. 
Edward  glanced  around  for  the  directing  white  man.  "Dar  ain't 
none,"  said  'Rasmus.  "De  haid  oberseer  when  he  heah  dat  New 
Orleans  been  taken  he  up  en'  say  dey  need  mo'  soldiers  than  dey  do 
oberseers,  en'  he  went  ter  Baton  Rouge!  En'  de  second  oberseer  dat 
come  up  en'  tek  he  place,  en'  is  er  good  man,  las'  week  he  broke  he 
hip.  En'  dar  wuz  two-three  others  er-driftin'  erroun,  doin'  what  dey 
wuz  toF  ter  do,  en'  dey  gone  too.  When  hit  wants  ter,  de  river  kin 
pull  'em  in  en'  drown  'em  en'  tek  'em  erway,  but  dishyer  war's 


12  CEASE  FIRING 

de  wust  yet !  Yaas,  sah,  dishyer  war 's  er  master  han'  at  eatin'  men ! 
No,  sah,  dar  ain't  no  white  man,  but  dar's  a  white  woman  — " 

Then  Edward  looked  and  saw  Desiree  Gaillard.  She  was  standing 
high,  beneath  her  heaped  logs,  behind  her  the  night.  She  had 
clasped  around  her  throat  a  soldier's  cloak.  The  wind  raised  it,  blew 
it  outward,  the  crimson  lining  gleaming  in  the  torchlight.  All  the 
red  light  beat  upon  her,  upon  the  blowing  hair,  upon  the  deep  eyes 
and  parted  lips,  the  outstretched  arm  and  pointing  hand,  the  dress  of 
some  bronze  and  clinging  stuff,  the  bent  knee,  the  foot  resting  upon 
a  log  end  higher  than  its  fellows.  The  out-flung  and  lifted  cloak  had 
the  seeming  of  the  floating  drapery  in  some  great  canvas,  billowing 
mantle  of  heroine,  saint,  or  genius. 

"Saintly,"  however,  was  certainly  not  the  word,  and  Desiree 
would  not  have  called  herself  heroine  or  genius.  She  was  simply 
fearless  and  intent,  and  since,  to  keep  the  negroes  in  courage  and 
energy,  it  was  needful  to  keep  them  in  good  spirits,  she  was,  also,  to 
night,  cheerful,  humorous,  abounding  in  praise.  Her  voice  rang  out, 
deep  and  sweet.  "  Good  man,  Mingo !  Mingo  's  carrying  two  to  every 
body  else's  one!  Lawrence  is  doing  well,  though!  So  is  Hannah's 
Tom!  — 

'Levee!  levee!  lock  your  hands  hard! 
Levee,  levee!  keep  the  river  from  my  home!  — ' 

Par  id,  Francois!  Christopher,  Harper,  Sambo,  Haiti,  Mingo 
Second,  make  a  line!  Big  Corinth,  throw  them  the  sacks!  Work 
hard  —  work  hard!  You  shall  have  rest  to-morrow,  and  at  night  a 
feast!  Look  at  Mingo,  how  he  works!  He  is  n't  going  to  let  the  river 
cover  Cape  Jessamine!  When  the  Colonel  comes  home  he  is  going 
to  say,  '  Good  boy,  Mingo ! '  To-morrow  night  all  the  banjos  play 
ing,  and  good  things  to  eat,  and  the  house-servants  down  at  the 
quarters,  and  a  dance  like  Christmas!  —  Mingo,  Mingo,  put  ten 
sacks  just  there  — ' 

When  she  saw  the  soldier  beside  her  her  eyes  opened  wide  in  a 
moment's  query,  after  which  she  accepted  him  as  an  item  of  the 
storm  and  the  night.  All  the  land  was  in  storm,  and  the  stream  of 
events  rapid.  From  every  quarter  and  from  distant  forests  the  wind 
blew  the  leaves.  Sometimes  one  knew  the  tree  from  which  they 
came,  sometimes  not.  On  presumption,  though,  if  the  leaf  were 
grey,  the  tree  was  a  proper  tree,  humble,  perhaps,  in  its  region  and 


CAPE  JESSAMINE  13 

clime,  but  sound  at  heart  and  of  a  right  grain.  When  Private  Edward 
Cary,  gaunt,  ragged,  muddy,  unshaven,  asked  what  he  could  do,  she 
considered  him  gravely,  then  gave  him  Mingo  Second  and  thirty 
men,  with  whom  he  set  to  strengthening  a  place  of  danger  not  so 
imminent.  From  where  he  worked  he  heard  at  intervals  her  clear 
voice,  now  insouciant,  now  thrilling.  There  came  a  moment  of 
leisure.  He  turned  and  saw  her  where  she  stood,  her  knee  bent,  her 
hand  and  arm  outstretched  against  the  river,  the  horseman's  cloak 
blown  backward  and  upward  into  a  canopy,  the  red  light  over  all, 
strong  and  clear  upon  her  face  and  throat  and  bronze-sheathed  body 
—  saw  her  and  loved  her. 

The  December  night,  already  well  advanced,  grew  old.  Always 
the  river  attacked,  always  the  land  opposed.  The  yellow  current 
sucked  and  dragged,  but  the  dyke  held  and  the  dyke  grew  stronger. 
The  rain  ceased;  far  up  in  the  sky,  through  a  small,  small  rift  peered 
a  star.  The  wind  died  into  a  whisper.  By  three  o'clock  there  came  a 
feeling  that  the  crisis  had  passed.  'Rasmus,  working  well  with  Ed 
ward's  detachment,  gave  it  voice.  "Cape  Jessamine's  done  stood 
heah  sence  de  flood,  en'  I  specs  dat's  two  hundred  yeahs!  Yaas, 
Lawd!  En'  when  Gabriel  blow  he  trump,  Cape  Jessamine  gwine 
up  en' say,  'Heah  I  is,  sah! '" 

And  at  that  moment  there  came  running  through  the  fields  a 
wild-eyed  negro,  panic  in  his  outstretched  hands.  "De  levee  by  de 
backwoods  —  de  levee  by  de  backwoods  —  de  levee  what  nobody 
eber  thinks  ob,  hit's  so  safe!  De  ribber  done  swing  ergin  hit  —  de 
ribber  done  gouge  er  hole  big  ez  de  debbil!  De  yerth's  er-tumblin' 
in,  en'  de  ribber 's  comin'  out  - 

Through  the  last  half-hour  of  the  night,  up  a  broad  avenue  be 
tween  water  oaks,  Edward  found  himself  hurrying  with  Desiree. 
Before  them  raced  the  negroes,  some  upon  the  road,  others  streaming 
through  the  bordering  fields.  Desiree  ran  like  a  huntress  of  Diana's. 
Her  soldier's  cloak,  blown  by  the  wind,  impeded  her  flight.  She 
unclasped  it  as  she  ran,  and  Edward  took  it  from  her. 

"Will  the  house  go?"  he  asked.   "How  great  is  the  danger?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  think  we  are  in  danger  of  our  lives. 
I  don't  think  the  water  can  get  to  the  house.  It  is  not  as  though  the 
levee  had  broken  where  we  were  working.  What  would  happen  then 
doesn't  stand  contemplating.  This  other  is  but  an  arm  of  the  river 


14  CEASE   FIRING 

-  not  deep  nor  strong.  I  think  that  the  house  quarters  are  safe  and 
the  stables.  But  we  must  get  the  women  and  children  and  the  old 
men  from  the  lower  quarter.  And  the  cattle  in  the  fields  —  "  She 
ran  faster. 

In  the  pallor  of  the  dawn  the  house  of  Cape  Jessamine  rose'before 
them.  Winged,  with  columns  and  verandahs,  it  loomed  in  the  grey 
light  above  leisurely  climbing  wide  lawns  and  bosky  garden.  At  the 
house  gates,  —  iron  scroll  and  tracery  between  brick  pillars,  antique, 
graceful,  —  they  were  met  by  the  younger,  less  responsible  of  the 
house  servants. 

"O  my Lawd!  O Lawd Jesus!  O my Lawd,  Missy!  de ribber 's out! 
O  my  Lawd,  my  sins!  What  we  gwine  ter  do  ?" 

"We  're  going  to  stand  a  siege,"  said  Desiree.  "Have  they 
brought  Mr.  Marcus  in  ?" 

"No'm.  Dey  waitin'  fer  you  ter  tell  dem  —  " 

She  pushed  the  cluster  aside  and  ran  on  up  the  broad  path,  Ed 
ward  following.  They  mounted  the  steps,  passed  between  the  pillars, 
entered,  and  sped  through  a  wide  panelled  hall  and  came  out  upon 
another  verandah  commanding  a  grassy  space  between  house  and 
offices.  At  a  little  distance,  upon  the  same  level,  straggling  away 
beneath  pecan  and  pine  and  moss-draped  oak,  could  be  seen  the 
house  quarter. 

The  negroes  came  crowding,  men  and  women,  big  and  little.  "De 
ribber,  Missy!  De  ribber,  Missy!  I  don' climb  er  tree  en' see  hit!  I 
see  hit  er-comin'  en'  er-eatin'  up  de  cotton  en'  de  cane !  O  my  Lawd, 
hit  er  comin'  lak  er  thief  in  de  night-time !  O  my  Lawd,  hit  er  comin'' 
laker  ha'nt!" 

Desiree  stood  on  the  verandah  steps  and  issued  her  orders.. 
"Mingo,  you  take  four  men  and  go  to  the  overseer's  house.  Tell 
Mr.  Marcus  that  I  say  he's  not  to  trust  to  the  water  not  coming 
high  in  his  house.  Tell  him  I  order  him  to  come  to  the  big  house. 
Take  him  up  on  his  mattress  and  bring  him.  Hurry,  now,  hurry! 
Mingo  Second,  Lawrence,  Adolph,  Creed,  Lot,  —  six  more  of  you! 
Try  what  you  can  do  for  the  cattle  in  the  lower  fields!  Try  hard!  If 
you  bring  them  in,  you  shall  have  everything  double  to-night!  — 
Haiti,  Sambo,  Hannah's  Tom,  all  of  you  men  on  this  side,  —  yes, 
you  too,  soldier,  if  you  will!  —  we'll  go  now  and  bring  the  women 
and  children  and  old  men  from  the  lower  quarter!" 


CAPE   JESSAMINE  15 

They  were  brought  in  —  brought  the  last  part  of  the  distance 
through  the  knee-deep  flood.  When  they  got  to  the  rising  ground  and 
the  house  quarter  the  water  was  close  behind  them.  Yellow  now  in 
the  strengthening  light,  beneath  a  tempestuous  morning  sky,  it 
washed  and  sucked  and  drew  against  the  just-out-of -reach  demesne. 

When  the  crippled  overseer  had  been  laid  in  a  wing  of  the  house, 
and  the  lower-quarter  people  had  been  disposed  of  in  the  house 
quarter  and  the  innumerable  out-buildings,  when  the  cattle  Mingo 
Second  brought  in  had  been  stalled  and  penned,  when  with  great 
iron  keys  Desiree  had  opened  smokehouse  and  storehouse  and  given 
out  rations,  when  fires  had  been  kindled  on  cabin  hearths,  and  old 
Daddy  Martin  had  taken  his  banjo,  and  the  house  servants  had 
regained  equanimity  and  importance,  and  "Missy"  had  lavishly 
praised  everybody,  even  the  piccaninnies  who  had  n't  cried  —  the 
plantation,  so  suddenly  curtailed,  settled  under  a  stormy  yellow  sun 
rise  into  a  not  unpleasurable  excitement  and  holiday  feeling  —  much 
like  that  of  an  important  funeral. 

Desiree  stood  at  last  alone  but  for  Edward,  and  for  two  or  three 
house  servants,  hovering  in  the  doorway.  She  had  again  about  her 
the  scarlet-lined  cloak;  her  throat,  face,  and  head  were  drawn 
superbly  against  the  lighted  east. 

She  pushed  back  her  wind-blown  hair  and  laughed.  "It  might 
have  been  worse !  —  which  is  my  habitual  philosophy !  We  will  have 
fair  weather  now,  and  the  water  will  go  down." 

"I  am  strange  to  this  country,"  said  Edward.  "How  can  I  find 
the  road  to  Vidalia?" 

He  stood  illumined  by  the  morning  glow,  his  rifle  beside  him  where 
he  had  leaned  it  against  the  pillar.  Now  and  again,  through  the  past 
hours,  his  voice  had  been  in  her  ear.  In  the  first  hearing  it,  in  the 
moil  and  anxiety,  she  had  at  once  the  knowledge  that  this  chance 
soldier  possessed  breeding.  In  this  time  and  region  the  "private" 
before  the  "soldier"  had  the  slightest  of  qualificatory  value.  Uni 
versity  and  professional  men,  wealthy  planters,  sons  of  command 
ing  generals  —  all  sorts  and  conditions  were  private  soldiers.  This 
one  was,  it  appeared  from  his  voice,  of  her  own  condition.  But 
though  she  had  noted  his  voice,  by  torchlight  or  by  daybreak  she 
had  scarce  looked  at  him.  Now  she  did  so;  each  looked  into  the 
other's  eyes. 


1 6  CEASE  FIRING 

"Vidalia?  The  road  to  Vidalia  is  covered.  You  must  wait  until 
the  water  goes  down." 
/'How  long  will  that  be?" 

"Three  days,  perhaps.  .  .  .  You  gave  me  good  help.  Permit  me 
now  to  regard  you  as  my  guest." 

"You  are  all  goodness.  If  you  will  give  yourself  no  concern  —  I 

am  Edward  Gary,  private  in  the th  Virginia  Infantry,  lately 

transferred  South.  An  accident,  yesterday  evening,  left  me  behind 
my  company  on  the  road  to  Vidalia.  I  must  follow  as  soon  as  it  is  at 
all  possible." 

"It  is  not  so  yet.  My  father  is  with  General  Beauregard.  My 
brother  is  at  Grenada  with  General  Van  Dorn.  I  am  Desiree  Gail- 
lard.  We  Louisianians  know  what  soldiers  are  the  Virginia  troops. 
Cape  Jessamine  gives  you  welcome  and  says,  'Be  at  home  for  these 
three  days.'" 

She  turned  and  spoke.  The  old  butler  came  forward.  "Etienne, 
this  gentleman  is  our  guest.  Show  him  to  the  panelled  room,  and  tell 
Simon  he  is  to  wait  upon  him."  She  spoke  again  to  Edward.  "Break 
fast  will  be  sent  to  you  there.  And  then  you  must  sleep.  —  No, 
there  is  nothing  we  can  do.  The  danger  to  the  main  levee  has  passed 
for  this  time,  I  am  sure.  —  Yes,  there  is  still  food.  We  can  only  fold 
our  hands  and  wait.  I  am  used  to  that  if  you  are  not.  Refresh  your 
self  and  sleep.  Supper  is  at  seven,  and  I  hope  that  you  will  take  it 
with  me." 

The  panelled  room,  with  a  lightwood  fire  crackling  upon  the 
hearth,  with  jalousied  windows  just  brushed  against  from  without 
by  a  superb  magnolia,  with  a  cricket  chirping,  with  a  great  soft  white 
bed  —  ah,  the  panelled  room  was  a  place  in  which  to  sleep!  The 
weary  soldier  from  Virginia  slept  like  the  dead.  The  day  passed,  the 
afternoon  was  drawing  toward  evening,  before  he  began  to  dream. 
First  he  dreamed  of  battle;  of  A.  P.  Hill  in  his  red  battle-shirt,  and 
of  an  order  from  "Old  Jack"  which  nobody  could  read,  but  which 
everybody  knew  must  be  immediately  obeyed.  In  the  midst  of  the 
whole  division  trying  to  decipher  it,  it  suddenly  became  perfectly 
plain,  and  the  Light  Division  marched  to  carry  it  out,  —  only  he 
himself  was  suddenly  back  home  at  Greenwood  and  Mammy  was 
singing  to  him 

"The  buzzards  and  the  butterflies." 


CAPE  JESSAMINE  17 

He  turned  upon  his  side  and  drifted  to  the  University,  and  then 
turned  again  and  dreamed  of  a  poem  which  it  seemed  he  was  writ 
ing,  —  a  great  poem,  —  a  string  of  sonnets,  like  Petrarch  or  Surrey 
or  Philip  Sidney.  The  sonnets  were  all  about  Love.  ...  He  woke 
fully  and  his  mind  filled  at  once  with  the  red  torchlight,  the  wild 
river  beyond  the  levee,  and  the  face  and  form  of  Desiree  Gaillard. 

The  door  gently  opened  and  Simon  entered  the  panelled  room, 
behind  him  two  boys  bearing  great  pitchers  of  heated  water.  The 
lightwood  fire  was  burning  brightly;  through  the  jalousies  stole  the 
slant  rays  of  the  sinking  sun;  the  magnolia,  pushed  by  the  evening 
wind,  tapped  against  the  window  frame.  Simon  had  across  his 
extended  arm  divers  articles  of  wearing  apparel.  These  he  laid  with 
solemnity  upon  a  couch  by  the  fire,  and  then,  having  dismissed  the 
boys  and  observed  that  Edward  was  awake,  he  bowed  and  hoped 
that  the  guest  had  slept  well. 

" Heavenly  well,"  said  Edward  dreamily.  "Hot  water,  soap,  and 
towels." 

"I  hab  tek  de  liberty,  sah,"  said  Simon,  "ob  extractin'  yo'  uniform 
from  de  room  while  you  slep'.  De  mud  whar  we  could  clean  off,  we 
hab  cleaned  off,  en'  we  hab  pressed  de  uniform,  but  de  sempstress 
she  say  'scuse  her  fer  not  mendin'  de  tohn  places  better.  She  say 
dat  uniform  sut'n'y  seen  hard  service." 

"She's  a  woman  of  discernment,"  said  Edward.  "The  tatters  are 
not  what  troubles  me.  No  end  of  knights  and  poets  have  appeared 
in  tatters.  But  I  do  feel  a  touch  when  it  comes  to  the  shoes.  There 's 
nothing  of  the  grand  manner  in  your  toes  being  out.  And  had  it 
ever  occurred  to  you,  Simon,  before  this  war,  how  valuable  is  a 
shoestring?"  He  sat  up  in  bed.  "At  this  moment  I  would  give  all 
the  silken  waistcoats  I  used  to  have  for  two  real  shoestrings.  — 
What,  may  I  ask,  could  you  do  for  the  shoes  ?" 

"King  Hiram  de  cobbler,  sah,  he  hab  de  shoes  in  han'.  He  shake 
he  haid,  but  he  say  he  gwine  do  all  he  kin.  De  sempstress,  too,  she 
say  she  gwine  do  her  natchul  bes'.  But  Miss  Desiree,  she  say  dat 
perhaps  you  will  give  Marse  Louis,  what  am  at  Grenada  wif  Gineral 
Van  Dorn,  de  pleasure  ob  sarvin'  you?  She  say  de  Mississippi  River 
all  'roun'  Cape  Jessamine  fer  three  days,  en'  nobody  gwine  come 
heah  less'n  dey  come  in  gunboats,  en'  you  kin  wear  yo'  uniform 
away  de  third  day  — "  Simon,  stepping  backward,  indicated  with  a 


1 8  CEASE   FIRING 

gesture  the  apparel  spread  upon  the  sofa.  "You  en'  Marse  Louis, 
sah,  am  erbout  ob  er  height  en'  make.  Miss  Desiree  toP  me  so,  en' 
den  I  see  fer  myself.  Marse  Louis's  evening  clothes,  sah,  en'  some 
ob  his  linen,  en'  a  ruffled  shu't,  en'  er  pair  ob  his  pumps  dat  ar 
mighty  ol',  but  yet  better  than  yo'  shoes.  —  Dat  am  de  bell-cord  ober 
dar,  sah,  en'  ef  yo'  please,  ring  when  you  ready  fer  me  ter  shave 
you." 

Downstairs  the  last  roses  of  the  west  tossed  a  glow  into  the  Cape 
Jessamine  drawing-room.  It  suffused  the  high,  bare,  distinguished 
place,  lay  in  carmine  pools  upon  the  floor,  glorified  the  bowls  of 
late  flowers  and  made  splendid  the  silken,  heavy,  old-gold  skirt  of 
Desiree  Gaillard.  There  was  a  low  fire  burning  on  the  hearth.  She 
sat  beside  it,  in  an  old  gilt  French  chair,  her  hands  resting  upon  the 
arms.  Folding  doors  between  room  and  hall  were  opened.  Desiree 
could  see  the  spacious,  finely  built  stairs  from  the  gallery  landing 
down;  thus  she  had  fair  benefit  of  Edward  Gary's  entrance.  The 
candles  had  been  lighted  before  he  came.  Those  in  the  hall  sconces 
gave  a  beautiful,  mellow  light.  Desiree  had  made  no  effort  to  explain 
to  herself  why  all  the  candles  were  lighted,  and  why  she  was  wearing 
that  one  of  her  year-before-last  Mardigras  dresses  which  she  liked 
the  best.  She  rarely  troubled  to  explain  her  actions,  to  herself  or  to 
another.  All  her  movements  were  characterized  by  a  certain  im 
perial  sureness,  harmony.  If  she  merely  wished  —  the  Southern 
armies  being  held  in  passionate  regard  by  all  Southern  women  — 
to  do  a  ragged  Virginia  private  honour;  if  she  wished,  delicately, 
fleetingly,  half-ironically  to  play-act  a  little  in  the  mist  of  flood  and 
war;  if  she  wished,  or  out  of  caprice  or  in  dead  earnest,  to  make  a 
fairy  oasis  —  why,  she  wished  it!  Whatever  had  been  her  motive, 
she  possibly  felt,  in  the  moment  of  Edward  Gary's  appearance  on 
the  stair,  that  gown  and  lights  were  justified. 

He  was  a  man  eminently  good  to  look  at.  Louis  Gaillard,  it  ap 
peared,  knew  how  to  dress;  at  any  rate,  the  apparel  that  Edward 
wore  to-night  became  him  so  well  that  it  was  at  once  forgotten.  He 
was  clean-shaven,  and  Simon  had  much  shortened  the  sunburnt  hair. 

Down  the  stair  and  across  hall  and  drawing-room  he  came  to  her 
side.  "Did  you  ever  get  through  the  thorny  wood  and  the  briar 
hedge  in  the  fairy  story?  That's  what,  without  any  doubt,  I  have 
done!" 


CAPE  JESSAMINE  19 

Desiree  smiled,  and  the  room  seemed  to  fill  with  soft  rose  and 
golden  lights.  "/  don't  call  it  a  thorny  wood  and  a  briar  hedge.  I 
always  see  a  moat  with  a  draw-bridge  that  you  have  to  catch  just  at 
the  right  moment,  or  not  at  all  — " 

At  table  they  talked  of  this  or  that  —  which  is  to  say  that  they 
talked  of  War.  War  had  gripped  their  land  so  closely  and  so  long; 
War  had  harried  their  every  field;  War  had  marked  their  every 
door  —  all  their  world,  when  it  talked  of  this  and  that,  talked  only 
of  some  expression  on  some  one  of  War's  many  faces.  It  might  be 
wildly  gay,  the  talk,  or  simple  and  sad,  or  brief  and  grave,  with 
tragic  brows,  or  bitterer  than  myrrh,  or  curiously  humorous,  or 
sardonic,  or  angry,  or  ironic,  or  infinitely  touching,  or  with  flashing 
eyes,  or  with  a  hand  that  wiped  the  drop  away;  but  always  the 
usual,  customary  talk  into  which  folk  fell  was  merely  War.  So 
Desiree  and  Edward  talked  War  while  they  ate  the  delicate,  frugal 
supper. 

But  when  it  was  eaten,  and  he  followed  her  back  into  the  drawing- 
room,  they  sat  on  either  side  the  hearth,  the  leaping  red  and  topaz 
flame  between  them  lighting  each  face,  and  little  by  little  forgot  to 
talk  of  this  and  that. 

It  appeared  that  save  for  the  servants  she  had  had  few  to  talk 
to  for  a  long,  long  while.  There  was  a  relief,  a  childlike  outpouring 
of  thought  and  fancy  caged  for  months.  It  was  like  the  awakened 
princess,  eager  with  her  dreams  of  a  hundred  years.  They  were 
dreams  of  a  distinction,  now  noble,  now  quaint,  and  always  some 
what  strange.  He  learned  a  little  of  her  outward  life  —  of  her  ances 
try,  half  French,  half  English;  of  her  mother's  death  long  ago;  of  her 
father,  studious,  courteous,  silent,  leaving  her  to  go  her  own  way, 
telling  her  that  he,  not  she,  was  the  rapier  in  action,  the  reincarnated, 
old  adventurousness  of  his  line.  He  learned  that  she  idolized  her 
brother;  that,  save  for  a  year  once  in  France  and  six  weeks  each 
winter  in  New  Orleans,  she  rarely  left  Cape  Jessamine.  He  gathered 
that  here  she  reigned  more  absolute  than  her  father,  that  she  loved 
her  life,  the  servants,  and  the  great  plantation.  It  was  as  large  almost 
as  a  principality,  yet  even  principalities  had  neighbours  up  and 
down  the  river!  He  gathered  that  there  had  been  visiting  enough, 
comings  and  goings,  before  the  war.  Other  principalities  had  prob 
ably  come  a- wooing  —  he  hoped  with  passion  to  no  purpose!  He 


20  CEASE  FIRING 

also  was  of  the  old,  Southern  life;  he  knew  it  all,  and  how  her  days 
had  gone;  she  was  only  further  South  than  his  sisters  in  Virginia. 
He  knew,  too,  how  the  last  eighteen  months  had  gone;  he  knew  how 
they  went  with  the  women  at  home. 

They  sat  by  the  jewelled  fire  and  talked  and  talked  —  of  all  things 
but  this  and  that.  War,  like  a  spent  thunder-cloud,  drifted  from 
their  minds.  They  did  not  continuously  talk;  there  were  silences 
when  they  looked  into  the  exquisite  flame,  or,  with  quiet,  wide  eyes, 
each  at  the  other.  They  were  young,  but  their  inner  type  was 
ancient  of  days;  they  sat  quiet,  subtle,  poised,  not  unlike  a  Leonardo 
canvas.  Before  ten  o'clock  she  rose  and  said  good  night  and  they 
parted.  In  the  panelled  room  Gary  opened  the  window  and  stood 
gazing  out.  There  was  a  great  round  moon  whitening  a  garden,  and 
tall,  strange  trees.  He  saw  an  opaline  land  of  the  heart,  an  immemo 
rial,  passion-pale  Paradise,  and  around  it  all  the  watery  barrier  of 
the  flood  .  .  .  Desiree,  in  her  own  room,  walked  up  and  down,  up 
and  down,  then  knelt  before  her  fire  and  smiled  to  find  that  she 
was  crying. 

The  next  morning,  although  he  was  up  early,  he  did  not  see  her 
until  eleven  o'clock.  Then  he  came  upon  her  as  she  quitted  the  wing 
in  which  had  been  laid  the  crippled  overseer.  All  around  was  an 
old,  formal  garden,  the  day  grey  pearl,  a  few  coloured  leaves  falling. 
The  two  sat  upon  the  step  of  a  summer-house,  and  at  first  they 
talked  of  the  recession  of  the  water  and  the  plantation  round  which 
had  kept  her  through  the  morning.  Then,  answering  her  smiling 
questions,  he  told  her  of  his  home  and  family,  lightly  and  readily, 
meaning  that  she  should  know  how  to  place  him.  After  this  the  note 
of  last  evening  came  back,  and  with  its  thrilling  sound  the  two  fell 
silent,  sitting  in  the  Southern  sunshine,  gazing  past  the  garden  upon 
the  lessening  crescent  of  the  flood. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  as  he  sat  in  a  dream  before  an  excellent  old 
collection  of  books,  the  door  opened  and  she  appeared  on  the  thresh 
old,  about  her  the  cloak  of  the  other  night.  He  rose,  laying  down 
an  unopened  book. 

"I  am  going,"  she  said,  "to  walk  down  the  avenue  to  look  at  the 
levee." 

They  walked  beneath  the  slant  rays,  through  the  deepening 
shade.  Before  them  was  the  great  river;  turn  the  head  and  they  saw, 


CAPE  JESSAMINE  21 

beyond  the  rising  ground  and  the  house  gleaming  from  the  trees,  the 
encroaching  backwater,  the  two  horns  of  that  sickle  all  but  touching 
the  main  levee.  When  they  came  upon  this,  out  of  the  long  avenue, 
the  cypresses  behind  them  were  black  against  the  lit  west,  unearthly 
still  and  dark  against  the  gold.  The  river,  too,  was  gold,  a  red  gold, 
deep  and  very  wide  and  swift. 

They  stood  upon  the  levee,  and  even  his  unaccustomed  eye  saw 
that  the  danger  and  strain  of  the  other  night  was  much  lessened, 
but  that  always  there  was  danger.  —  "The  price  of  safety  hereabouts 
is  vigilance." 

"Yes.  To  keep  up  the  levees.  Now  and  then,  before  the  War,  we 
heard  of  catastrophes  —  though  they  were  mostly  down  the  river. 
Then,  up  and  down,  everything  would  be  strengthened.  But  now  — 
neglect  because  we  cannot  help  it,  and  tremor  in  the  night-time! 
Below  Baton  Rouge  the  Yankees  have  broken  the  levees.  Oh,  the 
distress,  the  loss!  If  Port  Hudson  falls  and  they  come  up  the  river, 
or  Vicksburg  and  they  come  down  it,  Cape  Jessamine  will  be  as 
others."  She  drew  her  cloak  close  for  a  moment,  then  loosened  it, 
held  her  head  high  and  laughed.  "But  we  shall  win,  and  it  will  not 
happen!  ...  If  we  walk  to  the  bend  yonder,  we  shall  see  far,  far!  — 
and  it  is  lovely." 

At  the  bend  was  a  bench  beneath  a  live-oak.  The  two  sat  down 
and  looked  forth  upon  vast  levels  and  shining  loops  of  the  river. 
From  the  boughs  above  hung  Spanish  moss,  long  and  dark,  like  cob 
webs  of  all  time,  like  mouldered  banners  of  some  contest  long  since 
fought  out.  The  air  was  an  amethyst  profound. 

For  some  minutes  she  kept  the  talk  upon  this  and  that,  then 
with  resolution  he  made  it  die  away.  They  sat  in  a  silence  that  soon 
grew  speech  indeed.  Before  them  the  golden  river  grew  pale,  the 
vast  plain,  here  overflowed,  there  seamed  with  huge,  shaggy  forests, 
gathered  shadow;  above  day  at  its  latest  breath  shone  out  a  silver 
planet. 

Desiree  shivered.  "It  is  mournful,  it  is  mournful,"  she  said,  "at 
Cape  Jessamine." 

"Is  it  so  ?  Then  let  me  breathe  mournfulness  until  I  die." 

"The  water  is  going  down.  Mingo  says  it  is  going  down  fast." 

"Yes.  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  wish  it  might  never  go 
down." 


22  CEASE  FIRING 

"It  will.  I  am  not  old,  but  I  see  how  what  —  what  has  been  pleas 
ant,  dwindles,  lessens  —  The  road  to  Vidalia  lies  over  there." 

"  Yes.  In  the  shadow,  while  the  light  stays  here." 

Silence  fell  again,  save  for  a  bird's  deep  cry  in  some  canebrake. 
Presently  she  rose  and  set  her  face  toward  the  house.  They  hardly 
spoke,  all  the  way  back,  beneath  the  cypresses. 

In  a  little  while  came  night  and  candlelight.  He  found  her  in  the 
dress  of  the  evening  before,  by  the  jewelled  flame,  ruby  and  amber. 
They  went  into  the  next  room,  where  there  were  tall  candles  upon  the 
table,  and  ate  of  the  delicate,  frugal  fare.  There  was  some  murmured 
dreamy  talk.  They  soon  rose  and  returned  to  the  drawing-room. 
There  was  a  chess-table,  and  she  proposed  a  game,  but  they  played 
languidly,  moving  the  pieces  slowly.  Once  their  hands  touched. 
She  drew  back;  he  lifted  his  eyes,  then  lowered  them.  It  is  probable 
that  they  did  not  know  which  won. 

Again  at  ten,  she  said  good  night.  Standing  within  the  door  he 
watched  her  slowly  mount  the  stair  —  a  form  all  wrapped  in  gold,  a 
haunting  face.  At  the  turn  of  the  stair  there  came  a  pause.  She  half 
turned,  some  parting  courtesy  upon  her  lips.  It  died  there,  for  his 
upward  look  caught  hers.  Her  face  changed  to  meet  the  change  in  his, 
her  body  bent  as  his  strained  toward  her;  so  they  stayed  while  the 
clock  ticked  a  quarter-minute.  She  was  the  first  to  recover  herself. 
She  uttered  a  low  sound,  half  cry,  half  singing  note,  straightened 
herself  and  fled. 

The  next  morning  again  solitude  and  the  drift  of  leaves  in  the 
garden  walks.  He  did  not  see  her  until  the  middle  of  the  day,  and 
then  she  was  somewhat  stately  in  her  courtesy,  dreamy  and  brief 
of  speech. 

"Would  he  excuse  her  at  dinner  ?  There  was  a  woman  ill  at  the 
quarter — " 

"I  asked  you  to  let  me  give  you  no  trouble.  Only  the  day  is  flying 
and  to-morrow  morning  I  must  be  gone." 

"The  water  is  not  down  yet!" 

"  Yes,  it  is,  or  all  but  so.  I  have  been  to  see.  I  must  go,  you  know 
that  —  go  at  dawn." 

"I  will  be  in  the  garden  at  four." 

But  in  the  garden,  she  said  it  was  sad  with  the  cold,  dank  paths 
and  the  fading  roses.  They  came  up  upon  the  portico  and  passed 


CAPE  JESSAMINE  23 

through  a  long  window  into  the  drawing-room.  She  moved  to  the 
hearth  and  sat  in  her  great,  gilt  chair,  staring  into  a  deep  bed  of 
coals  above  which,  many-hued,  played  the  flames.  There  was  in  the 
room  a  closed  piano.  "No;  she  did  not  use  it.  Her  mother  had." 
He  opened  it,  sat  down  and  sang  to  her.  He  sang  old  love-songs,  old 
and  passionate,  and  he  sang  as  though  the  piano  were  a  lute  and  he  a 
minstrel  knight,  sang  like  Rudel  to  the  Lady  of  Tripoli. 

When  he  made  an  end  and  rose,  she  was  no  longer  by  the  fire. 
She  had  moved  to  the  end  of  the  room,  opened  the  long  window,  and 
was  out  in  the  sunset  light.  He  found  her  leaning  against  a  pillar, 
her  eyes  upon  the  narrow,  ragged,  and  gleaming  ribbon  into  which 
had  shrunk  the  flood  at  Cape  Jessamine. 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence,  then  he  spoke.  "Nice  customs 
curtsy  to  great  kings,"  he  said,  "and  great  love  knows  no  wrong 
times  and  mistaken  hours.  Absence  and  the  chance  of  war  are  on 
their  way.  I  dare  hold  my  tongue  no  longer.  Moreover,  you,  too,  — 
I  believe  that  you,  too,  know  what  this  is  that  has  come  upon  us! 
The  two  halves  of  the  whole  real  world  must  in  some  fashion  know 
each  other  —  I  love  you,  Desiree  Gaillard  —  loved  you  when  I  saw 
you  first,  there  on  the  river  bank  — 

He  put  out  his  hands.  Hers  came  to  them,  unhesitatingly.  She 
uttered  the  same  sound,  half  cry,  half  singing  note,  with  which  she 
had  turned  upon  the  stair  the  night  before.  In  a  moment  they  had 
embraced. 


CHAPTER   III 

VICKSBURG 

SEVERAL  days  later,  having  crossed  at  Vidalia  and  passed 
through  Natchez,  he  came  to  Vicksburg.  "The th  Vir 
ginia?" 

"  Camped,  I  think,  in  a  vacant  lot  near  the  Court-House.  Fine 
regiment!" 

"Yes,  fine  regiment.  Why  is  the  town  so  dressed  up?  I  have 
not  heard  so  many  bands  since  General  Lee  reviewed  us  on  the 
Opequon." 

"Similar  occasion!  The  President  and  General  Johnston  are  here. 
They  came  from  Jackson  yesterday.  This  morning  they  inspect  the 
defences,  and  this  afternoon  there  will  be  a  review." 

"  Give  me  all  the  news.  I  have  been  in  another  world." 

"Grant  and  Sherman  are  preparing  to  swoop.  The  first  is  at 
Oxford  with  fifty  thousand  men,  the  second  has  left  Memphis.  He 
has  thirty-five  thousand,  and  the  Gunboat  Squadron.  We're  in 
for  it  I  reckon!  But  the  town's  taking  it  like  a  birthday  party.  — 
When  I  was  a  boy  my  father  and  mother  always  gave  me  a  birthday 
party,  and  always  every  boy  in  town  but  me  was  there!  Can't  skip 
this  one,  however!  —  They  say  Forrest  is  doing  mighty  good  work 
east  of  Memphis,  and  there  came  a  rumour  just  now  that  Van  Dorn 
had  something  in  hand.  —  You're  welcome!" 

The  fair-sized  town,  built  up  from  the  riverside  and  over  a  shady, 
blossomy  plateau,  lay  in  pale  sunshine.  The  devious  river,  yellow, 
turbid,  looping  through  the  land,  washed  the  base  of  bluff  and  hill. 
Gone  was  the  old  clanging,  riverside  life,  the  coming  and  going  of 
the  packets,  laughter  and  shouting  of  levee  and  wharf,  big  ware 
houses  looking  benignantly  on,  manoeuvres  of  wagons  and  mules 
and  darkies;  gone  were  the  cotton  bales  and  cotton  bales  and  cotton 
bales  rolling  down  the  steep  ways  into  the  boats;  gone  the  singing 
and  singing  and  casual  sound  of  the  banjo !  There  was  riverside  life 
now,  but  it  partook  of  the  nature  of  War,  not  of  Peace.  It  was  the 


VICKSBURG  25 

life  of  river  batteries,  and  of  the  few,  few  craft  of  war  swinging  at 
anchor  in  the  yellow  flood.  Edward  Gary,  climbing  from  the  water 
side,  saw  to  right  and  left  the  little  city's  girdle  of  field-works,  the 
long  rifle-pits,  the  redoubts  and  redans  and  lunettes.  All  the  hill 
sides  were  trenched,  and  he  saw  camp-fires.  He  knew  that  not  more 
than  five  thousand  men  were  here,  the  remainder  of  the  Army  of  the 
West  being  entrenched  at  Grenada,  behind  the  Yallabusha.  Above 
him,  from  the  highest  ground  of  all,  sprang  the  white  cupola  of 
the  Court-House.  Around  were  fair,  comfortable  houses,  large,  old, 
tree-embowered  residences.  The  place  was  one  of  refinement  of 
living,  of  boundless  hospitality.  Two  years  ago  it  had  been  wealthy, 
a  centre  of  commerce. 

Edward  came  into  a  wider  street.  Here  were  people,  and,  in  the 
distance,  a  band  played  "Hail  to  the  Chief."  Every  house  that 
could  procure  or  manufacture  a  flag  had  hung  one  out,  and  there  were 
garlands  of  cedar  and  the  most  graceful  bamboo  vine.  In  the  cool, 
high,  December  sunlight  everything  and  everybody  wore  a  holiday 
air,  an  air  of  high  and  confident  spirits.  Especially  did  enthusiasm 
dwell  in  woman's  eye  and  upon  her  lip.  There  were  women  and  child 
ren  enough  at  doors  and  gateways  and  on  the  irregular  warm  brick 
pavement.  There  were  old  men,  too,  and  negro  servants,  and  a  good 
sprinkling  of  convalescent  soldiers,  on  crutches  or  with  arms  in 
slings,  or  merely  white  and  thin  from  fever.  But  young  men  or  men 
in  their  prime  lacked,  save  when  some  company  swung  by,  tattered 
and  torn,  bronzed  and  bright-eyed.  Then  the  children  and  the  old 
men  cheered  and  the  negroes  laughed  and  clapped,  and  the  women 
waved  their  handkerchiefs,  threw  their  kisses,  cried,  "God  bless 
you!"  East  and  west  and  north  and  south,  distant  and  near,  from 
the  works  preparing  for  inspection,  called  the  bugles. 

Edward,  moving  without  haste  up  the  street,  came  upon  a  throng 
of  children  stationed  before  what  was  evidently  a  schoolroom.  A 
boy  had  a  small  flag  —  the  three  broad  stripes,  the  wreath  of  stars. 
He  held  it  solemnly,  with  a  thin,  exalted  face  and  shining  eyes. 
The  girl  beside  him  had  a  bouquet  of  autumn  flowers.  Upon  the 
doorstep  stood  the  teacher,  a  young  woman  in  black. 

The  group  pressed  together  a  little  so  that  the  soldier  looking  for 
his  regiment  might  pass.  As  with  a  smile  he  made  his  way,  his  hand 
now  on  this  small  shoulder,  now  on  that,  the  teacher  spoke. 


a6  CEASE  FIRING 

"It's  a  great  day,  soldier!  They  must  all  remember  it,  must  n't 
they  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes! "said  Edward.  He  paused  beside  her,  gazing  about 
him.  "I  am  of  the  Virginia  troops.  We  passed  through  Vicksburg 
a  fortnight  ago,  but  it  was  at  night.  —  Well !  the  place  wears  its 
garland  bravely,  but  I  hope  the  siege  will  not  come." 

"If  it  does,"  said  the  young  woman,  "we  shall  stand  it.  We  stood 
the  bombardment  last  summer." 

The  boy  nearest  her  put  in  a  voice.  "Ho!  that  was  n't  anything! 
That  was  just  fun !  There  was  n't  more  'n  a  dozen  killed  and  one 
lady." 

"An'  the  house  next  ours  burned  up!"  piped  a  little  girl.  "An'  a 
shell  made  a  hole  in  the  street  before  my  grandma's  door  as  big  as  — 
big  as  —  big  as  —  big  as  the  moon! " 

All  the  children  began  to  talk.  "It  was  awful  —  " 

"Ho!  it  was  n't  awful.  I  liked  it." 

"We  got  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night  an'  it  was  as  light  as  day! 
An'  the  ground  shook  so  it  made  your  ears  ring,  an'  everybody  had 
to  shout  so's  they  'd  be  heard  — " 

"An'  it  was  n't  just  one  night!  It  was  a  whole  lot  of  nights  an' 
days.  Old  Porter  an'  old  Farragut  — " 

"An'  Miss  Lily  used  to  give  us  holiday  — " 

"Huh!  She  would  n't  give  it  less'n  the  noise  got  so  loud  she  had  to 
scream  to  make  us  hear!  When  we  could  honest-Injun  say,  'Miss 
Lily,  we  can't  hear  you! '  then  she'd  give  it  —  " 

"We  had  a  whole  lot  of  holiday.  An' then  old  Porter  an'  old 
Farragut  went  away  — " 

The  boy  who  held  the  banner  had  not  spoken.  Now  he  waved  it 
once,  looking  with  his  brilliant  eyes  up  and  out,  beyond  the  river. 
"The  damn- Yankees  went  away,  and  if  the  damn- Yankees  come 
any  more,  they  can  go  away  over  again  — " 

"Gordon!  don't  use  injurious  epithets!"  said  Miss  Lily,  very 
gently. 

Edward  laughed  and  said  good  day.  Farther  on,  keeping  step  for 
a  moment  with  a  venerable  old  gentleman,  he  asked,  "What,  sir, 
are  all  those  small  excavations  in  the  hillsides,  there,  beyond  the 
houses — " 

"They  are  refuges,  sir,  for  the  women  and  children  and  sick  and 


VICKSBURG  27 

helpless.  We  made  them  when  Farragut  came  up  the  river  and 
Porter  came  down  it  and  poured  shot  and  shell  in  upon  us  every  few 
days  for  a  month  or  two !  If  signs  may  be  trusted,  it  is  apparent,  sir, 
that  we  shall  find  use  for  them  again." 

"I  am  afraid  it  is.  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  correct  to  try  to  hold 
the  place." 

The  old  gentleman  struck  his  cane  against  the  ground.  "I  am  no 
strategist,  sir,  and  I  do  not  know  a  great  deal  about  abstract  cor 
rectness!  But  I  am  not  a  giver-up,  and  I  would  eat  mule  and  live  in 
a  rat-hole  for  the  balance  of  my  existence  before  I  would  give  up 
Vicksburg!  Yes,  sir!  If  I  were  a  two-year-old,  and  expected  to  live 
as  long  as  Methuselah,  those  would  be  my  sentiments!  Damn  the 
outrageousness  of  their  presence  on  the  Mississippi  River,  sir !  Our 
women  are  heroic,  sir.  They,  too,  will  eat  mule  and  live  in  rat-holes 
for  as  long  a  time  as  may  be  necessary!  —  No,  sir;  the  President 
may  be  trusted  to  see  that  the  town  must  be  held!" 

"Will  General  Johnston  see  it  so  ?" 

The  old  gentleman  wiped  his  forehead  with  a  snowy  handkerchief. 
"Why  should  n't  he  see  it  so?  He's  a  good  general.  General  Pem- 
berton  sees  it  so.  Why  should  n't  General  Johnston  see  it  so  ?" 

Edward  smiled.  "  Evidently  you  see  it  so,  sir.  —  Yes;  I  know 
that  except  for  Port  Hudson,  it 's  the  only  defensible  place  between 
Memphis  and  New  Orleans!  We  won't  cross  swords.  Only  our 
forces  are  n't  exactly  as  large  as  were  Xerxes'!" 

"Xerxes!  Xerxes,  sir,  was  an  effete  Oriental! —  I  gather  from 
your  accent,  sir,  that  you  are  from  Virginia.  I  don't  know  how  it 
may  be  with  Virginia,  —  though  we  have  heard  good  reports,  —  but 
our  people,  sir,  —  our  people  are  determined!" 

"Oh,"  said  the  other,  with  a  happy  laugh.  "I  like  your  people 

mighty  well,  sir!  Do  you  happen  to  know  where  the th  Virginia 

is  camped?" 

The  old  gentleman  waved  his  hand  toward  another  and  still 
broader  street.  Gary,  passing  into  it,  found  more  banners,  more 
garlands,  more  people,  and  in  addition  carriages  and  civic  digni 
taries.  In  front  of  him,  before  a  dignified,  pillared  residence,  was  an 
open  place  with  soldiers  drawn  up.  He  gathered  that  this  was  the 
vacant  lot  for  which  he  was  searching,  but  nearer  approach  failed 
to  reveal  the th  Virginia.  A  lieutenant  stood  beneath  a  tree, 


28  CEASE   FIRING 

pondering  his  forming  company.  Edward  saluted,  begged  for  in 
formation. 

" th  Virginia?  Ordered  off  at  dawn  to  Grenada.  Something's 

up  over  that  way.  Grant  making  a  flourish  from  Oxford,  I  reckon. 
Or  maybe  it's  Van  Dorn.  Do  you  belong  to  the th  Virginia? " 

The  major  came  up.  "Are  you  looking  for  the th  Virginia? 

Yes?  Then  may  I  ask  if  you  are  Edward  Gary?  Yes?  Then  I  pro 
mised  Captain  Carrington  to  look  out  for  you.  He  was  worried  — 
he  said  that  you  must  have  been  hurt  worse  than  he  thought  — " 

"I  was  not  badly  hurt,  but  a  levee  broke  and  flooded  that  region, 
and  I  could  not  get  by." 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you.  It's  not  only  Carrington  —  I  Ve  heard 
a  deal  about  you  from  a  brother  of  mine,  in  your  class  at  the 
University,  Oliver  Hebert." 

" Oh,  are  you  Robert?" 

"Yes.  Oliver's  in  Tennessee  with  Cleburne.  I  hope  you'll  dine 
with  me  to-day?  Good !  Now  to  your  affair.  The  regiment 's  going 
on  to-morrow  to  Grenada  with  the  President  and  General  Johnston. 
You  'd  best  march  with  us.  We  're  waiting  now  for  the  President  — 
detachment 's  to  act  as  escort.  He  '11  be  out  presently.  He  slept 
here  last  night." 

The  company,  whose  first  line  had  opened  to  include  Edward, 
moved  nearer  the  pillared  house.  Orderlies  held  horses  before  the 
door,  aides  came  and  went.  Down  the  street  sounded  music  and 
cheering.  An  officer  rode  before  the  waiting  escort. 

"Attention!" 

"That's  Old  Joe  they're  cheering,"  said  the  private  next  Edward. 
"Glad  Seven  Pines  could  n't  kill  him!  They  say  he's  got  a  record 
for  wounds  —  Seminole  War  —  Mexican  War  —  little  scrimmage 
we're  engaged  in  now!  —  always  in  front,  however.  I  was  at  Seven 
Pines.  Were  you  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Awful  fight!  —  only  we've  had  so  many  awful  fights  since  — 
There  he  is !  —  General  Johnston  I  General  Johnston  1  General 
Johnston!" 

Johnston  appeared,  spare,  of  medium  height,  with  grizzled  hair, 
mustache  and  imperial,  riding  a  beautiful  chestnut  mare.  But  re 
cently  recovered  from  the  desperate  wound  of  Seven  Pines,  recently 


VICKSBURG  29 

appointed  to  the  command  of  the  Department  of  the  West,  the 
bronze  of  the  field  had  hardly  yet  ousted  the  pallor  of  illness.  He 
rode  very  firmly,  sitting  straight  and  soldierly,  a  slight,  indomitable 
figure,  instinct  with  intellectual  strength.  He  lifted  his  hat  to  the 
cheering  lines  and  smiled  —  a  very  sweet,  affectionate  smile.  It 
gave  winsomeness  to  his  quiet  face.  He  was  mingled  Scotch  and 
English,  —  somewhat  stubborn,  very  able. 

Beside  him  rode  General  Pemberton,  commanding  the  forces  at 
Vicksburg  and  Grenada.  The  two  were  speaking;  Edward  caught 
Johnston's  quick,  virile  voice.  "I  believed  that,  apart  from  any 
right  of  secession,  the  revolution  begun  was  justified  by  the  maxims 
so  often  repeated  by  Americans,  that  free  government  is  founded  on 
the  consent  of  the  governed,  and  that  every  community  strong  enough 
to  establish  and  maintain  its  independence  has  a  right  to  assert  it. 
My  father  fought  Great  Britain  in  defence  of  that  principle.  Patrick 
Henry  was  my  mother's  uncle.  Having  been  educated  in  such  opin 
ions,  I  naturally  returned  to  the  State  of  which  I  was  a  native,  joined 
my  kith  and  kin,  the  people  among  whom  I  was  born,  and  fought  - 
and  fight  —  in  their  defence." 

He  reached  the  broad  steps  and  dismounted.  As  he  did  so,  the 
door  of  the  house  opened  and  the  President,  a  number  of  men  behind 
him,  came  out  upon  the  portico.  Tall  and  lean  as  an  Indian,  clear- 
cut,'  distinguished,  theorist  and  idealist,  patriot  undoubtedly,  able 
undoubtedly,  Jefferson  Davis  breathed  the  morning  air.  Mississippi 
was  his  State;  Beauvoir,  his  home,  was  down  the  country.  He  looked 
like  an  eagle  from  his  eyrie. 

Johnston  having  mounted  the  steps,  the  two  met.  "Ah,  General, 
I  wish  that  /  were  in  the  field  with  this  good  town  to  defend!" 

"  Your  Excellency  slept  well,  I  trust  —  after  the  people  would  let 

you  sleep?" 

"I  slept.   General  Pemberton,  good  morning  --  What  are  your 

arrangements?" 

"In  a  very  few  moments,  if  your  Excellency  pleases,  we  will  start. 
The  line  of  works  is  extensive." 

"Haynes  Bluff  to  Warrenton,"  said  Johnston.    "About  fifteen 

"It  is  not  expected,"  said  Pemberton,  "that  his  Excellency  shall 
visit  the  more  distant  works." 


30  CEASE  FIRING 

Mr.  Davis,  about  to  descend  the  steps,  drew  a  little  back.  Be 
tween  his  brows  were  two  fine,  parallel  lines.  "  You  think,  General 
Johnston,  that  the  lines  are  too  extensive  ?" 

"  Under  the  circumstances  —  yes,  your  Excellency." 
"Then  what  is  in  your  mind  ?  Pray,  speak  out !" 
"I  think,  sir,  that  one  strong  work  should  be  constructed  above 
the  town,  at  the  bend  in  the  river.  It  should  be  made  very  strong. 
I  would  provision  it  to  the  best  of  our  ability,  and  I  would  put  there 
a  garrison,  say  of  three  thousand.  The  remainder  of  General  Pem- 
berton's  forces  I  would  keep  in  the  field,  adding  to  them  — " 
"Yes?  Pray,  be  frank,  sir." 

"It  is  my  custom,  your  Excellency.   I  hesitated  because  I  have 
already  so  strongly  made  this  representation  that  I  cannot  conceive 
.  .  .  Adding  to  them  the  Army  of  the  Trans-Mississippi." 
"I  cannot  consent  to  rob  Peter,  sir,  to  pay  Paul." 
"I  conceive,  sir,  that  it  is  neither  Peter  nor  Paul  that  is  in  ques 
tion,  but  the  success  of  our  arms.   The  enemy's  forces  are  uniting 
to  invade.  Equally  ours  should  unite  to  repel.  General  Holmes  and 
his  army  are  doing  little  in  Arkansas.  Here  they  might  do  much.  — 
If  we  had  the  strong  works  and  garrison  I  speak  of  — " 

"You  would  abandon  all  the  batteries  up  and  down  the  river?" 
"A  giant  properly  posted  will  guard  the  Mississippi  better  than 
will  your  long  line  of  dwarfs." 

"Pray,  sir,  do  not  say  my  line  of  batteries.  They  are  not  mine." 
"I  will  say,  then,  your  Excellency,  General  Pemberton's." 
"You,  sir,  and  not  General  Pemberton,  are  in  command  of  the 
Department  of  the  West." 

"So,  when  it  is  convenient,  it  is  said.  I  have,  then,  sir,  authority 
to  concentrate  batteries  and  a  certain  proportion  of  troops  at  the 
bend  of  the  river?" 

"We  will  take,  sir,  your  ideas  under  consideration." 
The  President  moved  to  the  steps,  the  others  following.  The  line 
was  still  between  Mr.  Davis's  brows.  All  mounted,  wheeled  their 
horses,  moved  into  the  street.  The  aides  came  after,  the  escort  closed 
in  behind.  With  jingle  and  tramp  and  music,  to  salutes  and  cheer 
ing,  the  party  bent  on  inspection  of  the  Vicksburg  defences  moved 
toward  its  object. 
The  words  upon  the  portico  had  not  of  course  floated  to  the  ears 


VICKSBURG  31 

of  the  soldiers  below.  But  the  Confederate  soldier  was  as  far  re 
moved  from  an  automaton  as  it  is  conceivable  for  a  soldier  to  be. 
Indeed,  his  initiative  in  gathering  knowledge  of  all  things  and 
moods  governing  the  Board  of  War  was  at  times  as  inconvenient  as 
it  was  marked.  His  intuition  worked  by  grapevine. 

"What,"  asked  the  soldier  nearest  Edward,  "made  the  quarrel  ?" 

"Old  occasions,  I  believe.  Now  each  is  as  poison  to  the 
other." 

The  inspection  of  water  batteries  and  field-works  was  over,  the 
review  of  the  afternoon  over.  Amid  cheering  crowds  the  President 
left  Vicksburg  for  Grenada,  with  him  General  Johnston  and  General 
Pemberton.  The  regiment  which  had  given  Edward  Gary  hospitality 
made  a  night  march. 

In  the  cold  December  dawn  they  came  to  a  stream  where,  on  the 
opposite  bank,  a  cavalry  detail  could  be  made  out  watering  its 
horses.  There  was  a  bridge.  Infantry  crossed  and  fraternized. 

"What's  the  news  ?  We  had  a  big  day  in  Vicksburg  yesterday! 
The  President  and  Old  Joe  — " 

"Have  you  heard  about  the  raid  ?" 

"What  raid?" 

"Boys,  they  have  n't  heard!  —  Oh,  I  see  our  captain  over  there 
telling  it  to  your  colonel." 

"That 'sail  right!  We '11  get  it  from  the  colonel.  But  you  fellows 
might  as  well  tell  —  seeing  that  you're  dying  to  do  it!  What 
raid?" 

"  Van  Dorn's  raid  —  our  raid !  Raid  on  Holly  Springs !  Raid  round 
Grant!  Yaaaih!  Yaaiih!  Yaaaaihl" 

A  tall  and  strong  trooper,  with  a  high  forehead,  deep  eyes,  and  a 
flowing  black  beard,  began  to  speak  in  a  voice  so  deep  and  sonorous 
that  it  boomed  like  a  bell  across  the  water.  "Van  Dorn  's  a  jewel. 
Van  Dorn  loves  danger  as  he  might  love  a  woman  with  a  temper. 
When  she's  smiling  she's  so  white-angry,  then  he  loves  her  best. 
Van  Dorn  rides  a  black  thoroughbred  and  rides  her  hard.  Van 
Dorn,  with  his  long  yellow  hair  — " 

"Listen  to  Llewellen  chanting  like  the  final  bard!  —  Well,  he  is 
handsome,  —  Van  Dorn!" 

"He  ain't  tall,  but  he  's  pretty.  Go  on,  Llewellen!" 

"Van  Dorn  riding  like  an  Indian  — " 


32  CEASE  FIRING 

"He  did  fine  in  the  Comanche  War.  Did  you  ever  hear  about  the 
arrow?" 

"Van  Dorn  and  two  thousand  of  us  —  two  thousand  horse!" 

"  Dead  night  and  all  of  them  fast  asleep ! " 

"Holly  Springs  —  Grant's  depot  of  supplies  —  three  months' 
stores  for  sixty  thousand  men  — " 

"Burnt  all  his  supplies  —  cut  his  lines  of  communication  —  cap 
tured  the  garrison  !  —  Hurrah!" 

"Ulysses  S.  Grant's  campaign's  deranged  — " 

"Reckon  Vicksburg's  safe  for  this  time!  Reckon  he'll  have  to 
trot  Sherman  back  to  Memphis  — " 

"Reckon  he'll  have  to  clear  out  of  Mississippi  himself!" 

"Light  as  hell  in  the  dead  night  and  all  of  them  scampering! 
Hurrah!  Van  Dorn  and  two  thousand  horse  —  " 

" '  Now,  men,'  says  Van  Dorn /I  want  Glory  with  a  capital  letter, 
and  I  reckon  we  're  most  of  us  built  the  same  way!  Well,  Glory 
Hallelujah  is  growing  round  Grant's  army  like  tiger  lilies  round  a 
beehive  — '  " 

"Van  Dorn  and  two  thousand  horse  —  took  'em  like  a  thunder 
clap  !  Burned  three  months'  supplies  for  sixty  thousand  men  —  cut 
their  lines  — 

"Toled  danger  away  from  Vicksburg  — " 

" Van  Dorn  and— " 

Fall  in!  Fall  in  I 

That  evening  the  infantry  regiment  bivouacked  within  sight  of 
Grenada.  The  next  morning,  early,  it  swung  out  toward  the  Yalla- 
busha.  Passing  a  line  of  ragged  sentries  it  presently  came  to  a  region 
of  ragged,  huge  fields  with  cotton  all  ungathered,  ragged,  luxuriant 
forest  growth,  ragged,  gully-seamed,  low  hills.  From  behind  one  of 
these  floated  the  strains  of  "Dixie"  played  by  ragged  Confederate 
bands.  The  regiment  climbed  a  few  yards  and  from  a  copse  of  yellow 
pine  looked  down  and  out  upon  a  ragged  plain,  an  almost  tentless 
encampment,  and  upon  a  grand  review  of  the  Army  of  the  West. 

Halt!  In  placet  Rest! 

The  regiment,  leaning  on  its  muskets,  watched  through  a  veil  of 
saplings.  Officers  and  men  were  vividly  interested  and  comment 
was  free,  though  carried  on  in  low  tones.  Not  far  below  waved  the 
colours  marking  the  reviewing-stand.  The  music  of  the  massed 


VICKSBURG  33 

bands  came  from  the  right,  while  in  front  a  cluster  of  well-mounted 
men  was  moving  down  the  great  field  from  division  to  division.  A 
little  in  advance  rode  two  figures.  "The  President  and  General 
Johnston,"  said  the  colonel  and  the  major  and  the  captains.  "Old 
Joe  and  the  President,"  remarked  the  men. 

The  day  was  bright  and  still  and  just  pleasantly  cold.  A  few  white 
clouds  sailed  slowly  from  west  to  east,  the  sky  between  of  the  clearest 
azure.  A  deep  line  of  trees,  here  bare  or  partly  bare,  here  evergreen, 
marked  the  course  of  the  Yallabusha.  The  horizon  sank  away  in 
purple  mist.  The  sun  came  down  and  glinted  brightly  on  sixteen 
thousand  bayonets,  and  all  the  flags  glowed  and  moved  like  living 
things.  The  trumpets  brayed,  the  drums  beat;  there  stood  out 
the  lieutenant-general,  Pemberton,  the  major-generals,  Loring  and 
Dabney  Maury  and  Earl  Van  Dorn,  the  latter  laurel-crowned  from 
as  brilliant  a  raid  as  the  War  had  seen.  Back  to  the  colours  flutter 
ing  beneath  a  live-oak  came  the  reviewing  party.  Brigade  by  brig 
ade,  infantry,  cavalry,  and  artillery,  the  army  passed  in  review. 

Past  the  President  of  the  Confederacy  went  an  array  of  men  that, 
in  certain  respects,  could  only  be  matched  in  the  whole  earth  by  the 
other  armies  of  that  Confederacy.  They  were  of  a  piece  with  the 
Army  of  Tennessee  now  operating  near  Chattanooga,  and  Jwith 
the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  now  watching  Burnside  across  the 
Rappahannock,  and  with  other  grey  forces  scattered  over  the  vast 
terrain  of  the  War. 

It  emerged  at  once  how  spare  they  were  and  young  and  ragged. 
There  were  men  from  well-nigh  every  Southern  State;  from  Georgia, 
Alabama,  Mississippi,  Louisiana,  Missouri,  Texas,  Kentucky,  the 
Carolinas;  —  but  whether  they  came  from  lands  of  cotton  and  cane, 
or  lands  of  apple  and  wheat,  they  were  alike  lean  and  bronzed  and 
ragged  and  young.  Men  in  their  prime  were  there,  and  men  past 
their  prime;  there  did  not  lack  grey-beards.  Despite  this,  the  im 
pression  was  overwhelmingly  one  of  youth.  Oh,  the  young,  young 
men,  and  lean  as  Indians  in  winter!  Brigade  by  brigade,  —  infan 
try,  cavalry,  artillery,  —  with  smoke-stained,  shot-riddled  colours, 
with  bright,  used  muskets,  with  the  guns,  with  the  war-horses,  with 
the  bands  playing  "Dixie,"  they  went  by  Mr.  Davis  and  General 
Johnston  beneath  the  live-oak. 

Toward  noon  the  regiment  from  Vicksburg  found  its  chance  to 


34  CEASE  FIRING 

report,  and  a  little  later  Edward  Gary  rejoined  his  command.  The 
command  was  glad  to  see  him;  not  all  his  comrades  understood  him, 
but  they  liked  him  exceedingly.  That  night,  the  first  lieutenant, 
with  whom  at  the  University,  he  had  read  George  Sand  and  the 
dramas  of  M.  Victor  Hugo,  found  him  seated  under  a  yellow  pine 
with  a  pine  stump  for  table,  and  a  pine  torch  for  lamp,  slowly  cover 
ing  with  strong,  restrained  handwriting,  several  sheets  of  bluish 
Confederate  paper. 

The  lieutenant  threw  himself  down  upon  the  pine  needles.  "  Writ 
ing  home?" 

"No.  Not  to-night." 

Two  letters  lay  addressed  in  their  envelopes.  The  lieutenant, 
weary  and  absent-minded,  took  them  up,  fingering  them  without 
thinking.  Edward  drew  the  letter  he  was  writing  into  the  shadow, 
guarded  it  with  his  arm,  and,  smiling,  held  out  the  other  hand. 

Colonel  Henry  Gaillard, 

Louisiana  Cavalry, 

Mobile, 

Alabama. 

Captain  Louis  Gaillard, 

Louisiana, 

Barton's  Brigade  — 

read  the  lieutenant.  He  dropped  the  letters.  "I  am  sure  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Gary!  I  did  n't  in  the  least  think  what  I  was  doing!" 

"There's  no  harm  done,  Morton."  He  repossessed  himself  of  the 
letters,  struck  the  torch  at  another  angle,  and  turned  from  the  forest 
table.  "Morton,  I'm  going  in  for  promotion." 

The  lieutenant  laid  down  his  pipe.  "Well,  if  you  go  in  for  it,  I'll 
back  you  to  get  it,  but  I  thought  you  said  — " 

"I  did." 

"What  do  you  want  it  for?  Vain-glory  ?  " 

Edward  locked  his  hands  behind  his  head.  "No;  not  for  vain 
glory  —  though  it 's  remarkable  how  brothers  and  fathers  and  kins 
folk  generally  like  the  clang  of  'Colonel'  or  'Brigadier '!  After  the 
Merrimac  and  Monitor  I  wouldn't  take  promotion,  but  I  did 


VICKSBURG  35 

get  a  furlough.  .  .  .  Morton,  I  'm  going  in  for  furloughs  and  a 

lieutenant-colonelcy.  Back  me  up,  will  you  ?" 

"Oh,  we'll  all  do  that!"  quoth  Morton.    "You  might  have 

entered  as  captain  and  been  anything  most  by  now  — " 
"I  did  n't  care  to  bother.  But  now  I  think  I  will." 
"All  right!"  said  Morton.  "I  gather  that  presently  there  will  be 

chances  thick  as  blackberries." 


CHAPTER   IV 

CHICKASAW   BAYOU 

FOR  ages  and  ages,  water,  ceaselessly  streaming,  ceaselessly 
seeping,  through  and  over  the  calcareous  silt,  had  furrowed  the 
region  until  now  there  was  a  medley  and  labyrinth  of  narrow 
ravines  and  knife-blade  ridges.  Where  the  low  grounds  opened  out 
it  was  apparently  only  that  they  might  accommodate  bayous,  or 
some  extension  of  a  bayou,  called  by  courtesy  a  lake.  Along  these  the 
cane  was  thick,  and  backward  from  the  cane  rose  trees  and  trees  and 
trees,  all  draped  with  Spanish  moss.  It  had  been  a  rainy  winter,  a 
winter  of  broken  banks  and  slow,  flooding  waters.  Sloughs  strayed 
through  the  forest;  there  was  black  mire  around  cypress  and  magnolia 
and  oak.  The  growth  in  the  ravines  was  dense,  that  upon  the  ridges 
only  less  so.  From  Vicksburg,  northward  for  several  miles,  great 
clearings  had  recently  been  made.  Here,  from  the  Upper  Batteries 
above  the  town  to  Haynes  Bluff  on  the  Yazoo,  stretched  grey  field- 
works,  connected  by  rifle-pits. 

Chickasaw  Bayou,  sullen  and  swollen,  curved  away  from  the 
scarped  hills  and  the  strip  of  forest.  On  the  other  side  of  Chickasaw, 
and  of  that  width  of  it  known  as  McNutt's  Lake,  there  was  shaking 
ground  —  level  enough,  but  sodden,  duskily  overgrown,  and  diffi 
cult.  This  stretched  to  the  Yazoo. 

Down  the  Mississippi  from  Memphis  came  Sherman  with  thirty 
thousand  blue  infantry.  They  came  in  transports,  in  four  flotillas, 
and  in  front  went  Porter's  Gunboat  Squadron.  Grant  had  planned 
the  campaign.  With  the  forces  which  had  been  occupying  south 
western  Tennessee,  he  himself  was  at  Oxford.  He  would  operate  by 
land,  overwhelming  or  holding  in  check  Pemberton's  eighteen  thou 
sand  at  Grenada.  In  the  mean  time  Sherman,  descending  the  Mis 
sissippi  to  the  mouth  of  the  Yazoo,  some  miles  above  Vicksburg  and 
its  river  batteries,  should  ascend  that  stream,  flowing  as  it  did  not 
far  to  the  northward  of  the  doomed  town ;  —  ascend  the  Yazoo, 
disembark  the  thirty  thousand,  and  with  a  sudden  push  take  Vicks- 


CHICK  AS  AW   BAYOU  37 

burg  in  the  rear.  It  was  known  that  there  were  but  five  thousand 
troops  in  the  place. 

The  plan  was  a  good  plan,  but  Van  Dorn  disarranged  it.  Grant, 
his  base  of  supplies  at  Holly  Springs  captured  and  all  his  stores  de 
stroyed,  was  compelled  to  fall  back  toward  Memphis.  He  sent  an 
order  to  Sherman,  countermanding  the  river  expedition,  but  Sher 
man  had  started  and  was  well  down  the  vast  yellow  stream,  the 
gunboats  going  ahead. 

On  the  twenty-third  of  December  these  entered  the  Yazoo,  to  be 
followed,  three  days  later,  by  four  flotillas.  There  ensued  several 
days  of  Federal  reconnoitring.  The  Yazoo,  not  so  tortuous  as  the 
great  stream  into  which  it  flowed,  was  yet  tortuous  enough,  and  in 
places  out  of  banks,  while  the  woods  and  swamps  on  either  side  were 
confusing,  wild,  and  dark.  Necessary  as  it  may  have  been,  the  pro 
cedure  militated  against  taking  a  city  by  surprise.  The  grey  had 
notice  of  the  gunboats,  and  of  the  trail  of  flotillas. 

Pemberton  acted  with  promptness  and  judgment.  Grant  was  not 
so  far  away  that  the  forces  at  Grenada  could  be  utterly  weakened, 
but  the  brigades  of  Barton,  Vaughn,  and  Gregg  were  detached  at 
once  for  Vicksburg.  There,  on  the  line  from  the  sandbar  north  of  the 
town  to  Haynes  Bluff,  they  joined  the  provisional  division  of  Stephen 
D.  Lee.  The  position  was  strong.  The  grey  held  the  ridges  crowned 
by  field-works  and  rifle-pits.  Before  them  spread  the  dark,  marsh- 
ridden  bottom  land,  crept  through,  slow  and  deep,  by  Chickasaw 
Bayou.  They  had  greatly  the  advantage  of  position,  but  there  were, 
on  the  strip  between  the  Yazoo  and  the  Walnut  Hills,  four  men  in 
blue  to  one  in  grey.  At  the  last  moment,  in  answer  to  a  representa 
tion  from  General  Martin  Luther  Smith,  commanding  the  defences 
at  Vicksburg,  an  additional  regiment  was  despatched  from  Grenada. 
It  chanced  to  be  the th  Virginia  Infantry. 

The  night  was  cold,  very  dark,  and  pouring  rain.  Vicksburg  had 
been  reached  at  dusk.  There  seemed  no  soldiers  here.  "  Everybody 's 
out  toward  McNutt's  Lake.  Reckon  you're  wanted  there,  too!" 

The th  Virginia  found  at  last  the  man  to  report  to,  upon  the 

heels  of  which  event,  without  having  tasted  supper  or  experienced 
warmth,  it  discovered  itself  on  the  road  to  Chickasaw  Bayou.  "On 
the  road"  is  merely  a  figure  of  speech.  The  regiment  concluded 
that  some  time  in  the  Bronze  Age  there  might  have  been  a  road, 


3  8  CEASE   FIRING 

but  that  since  then  it  had  been  washed  away.  This  was  the  Mud 
Age. 

In  the  pitchy  dark,  the  chill,  arrowy  rain,  the  men  stumbled 
along.  Except  for  an  occasional  order,  an  occasional  exclamation, 
impatient  groan,  long-drawn  sigh,  there  was  silence.  They  had 
some  miles  to  go.  To  keep  step  was  out  of  the  question. 

Edward  Gary,  closing  his  file,  moved  with  a  practised,  light  steadi 
ness.  His  body  was  very  supple,  fine,  with  long  clean  lines.  From 
head  to  heel  he  was  in  order,  like  a  Greek  runner.  Spare  and  worn 
and  tired  like  all  the  rest,  he  kept  at  all  times  a  certain  lift  and  poise 
as  though  there  were  wings  upon  his  cap. 

He  was  not  like  Richard  Cleave.  He  had  little  innate  feeling  for 
War,  intuitive  understanding  of  all  its  phases.  Being  with  all  his 
people  plunged  deep,  deep  within  it,  he  played  his  part  there  bravely 
enough.  He  served  his  native  land,  and  her  need  and  woe  dwelt 
with  him  as  it  dwelt  with  all  his  world,  both  men  and  women.  Much 
of  him,  perforce,  was  busy  with  the  vast  and  mournful  stage.  But 
he  found  himself  not  truly  at  home  with  the  war-drums  and  the 
wailing,  with  smell  of  blood  and  smoke,  weight  of  shot-riddled  ban 
ners,  trampled  faces.  He  was  born  for  beauty  and  her  worship,  for 
spacious  order  and  large  harmony,  and  for  months  now  there  had 
been  war  and  agony  and  smell  of  blood  and  sight  of  pale,  twisted 
faces  —  for  long  months  only  that.  And  then  somehow,  accidentally 
it  seemed,  he  had  rubbed  the  lamp.  Only  ten  days  ago  —  oh,  light 
and  warmth  and  harmony!  Oh,  the  strange  and  sweet  in  combina 
tion  !  Oh,  serene  spaces  for  the  mind !  Oh,  golden  piping  and  beck 
oning  to  emotions  not  stern!  Oh,  the  deepest,  oldest  wine!  Oh,  by 
the  oddest,  simplest  chance,  sudden  as  a  wind  from  Heaven,  intim 
acy  warm  and  fragrant  with  the  Only-Dreamed-Of,  the  Never- 
Found-Before!  Oh,  in  a  word,  the  love  of  Desiree  Gaillard! 

He  was  marching  through  the  dark  night,  the  mire,  the  cold,  the 
wet.  Certain  centres  of  consciousness,  no  doubt,  knew  them  all,  — 
knew  hunger,  cold,  weariness.  But  the  overman,  the  Lover,  moved 
through  rose-scented  dusk,  through  intricate,  sweet  thoughts,  in 
some  imaged  Vale  of  Cashmere.  Only  not  at  all,  not  at  all  could  he 
banish  anxiety  as  to  the  Beloved's  well-being. 

About  him,  in  the  night,  was  the  tramp,  tramp  of  other  weary 
feet,  the  dim  sight  and  sound  of  other  weary  bodies,  cold,  wet,  thinly 


CHICKASAW   BAYOU  39 

clad.  Most  of  these  men  in  the  darkness  thought,  perhaps,  of  beings 
far  away  from  these  labyrinthine  ridges  and  hollows.  Many  a  soldier 
warmed  his  heart  by  the  fires  of  home,  dreamed  as  he  marched  of 
lover,  wife,  or  child.  But  the  thoughts  were  shot  with  pain  and  the 
dreams  were  bitter  sweet.  No  man  in  a  Southern  army  could  take 
comfort  in  the  thought  that  whatever  of  want  and  strain  and  boding 
might  obtain  where  he  moved,  ragged,  through  the  darkness,  all  was 
well  at  home  —  comfort  there,  warmth  and  food  there,  ease  of  heart 
there!  Many  knew  that  at  home  there  was  immediate  suffering; 
others,  that  while  the  board  was  spread  to-night,  yet  the  dark  sail  of 
privation  grew  larger  and  larger.  All  knew  that  there  was  little,  little 
ease  of  heart.  Marching  through  the  rainy  night  they  carried  with 
them,  heavier  than  musket  and  haversack,  the  ache  of  all  at  home,  as, 
upon  this  night,  all  at  home  felt  cold  and  gaunt  with  the  marching, 
marching  armies.  Yet  the  South  at  home  managed  to  keep  a  high 
head  and  a  ready  smile,  and  the  South  in  the  field  managed  a  jest, 
a  laugh,  a  song.  At  home  and  in  the  field  vast  need  and  stress  lifted 

the  man,  lifted  the  woman,  lifted  the  child.  Some  one  in  the th 

Virginia,  moving  out  to  Chickasaw  Bayou,  began  to  sing  jerkily — 

"Old  Dan  Tucker! 
You  too  late  to  get  your  supper  — " 

The  regiment  climbed  another  of  the  innumerable  mole-hills,  all 
stumps  of  recently  felled  trees,  and  between,  tenacious  and  horrible 
mud.  The  far  side  was  worse  than  the  near,  and  the  bottom  land, 
when  finally  they  slipped  and  slid  and  wavered  down  upon  it,  proved 
mere  quagmire.  Here  they  found,  deeply  mired,  two  sections  of 
artillery,  bound  as  they  were  bound  and  struggling  with  the  night. 
Gun  wheels  were  sunken  above  the  axle-tree;  it  seemed  a  mud  burial, 
a  question  of  never  getting  out.  One  heard  straining  gun  teams, 
chattering  negro  drivers.  There  were  torches,  saffron  blurs  of  light, 
hissed  against  by  the  rain,  moving  up  and  down  like  dejected  will- 
o'-the-wisps. 

Infantry  came  up.  "Halfway  to  China,  are  n't  you  ?  Want  us  to 
lend  a  hand?" 

"Thank  you,  boys!  William,  tell  those  mules  to  pull  harder." 
"  What  are  you  doing  with  mules  ?  Has  it  come  to  mule  artillery?  " 
"Well,  it's  coming  to  so  many  things!  —  We're  Army  of  Ten 
nessee  —  Stevenson's  division  —  come  down   to  help  hold    the 


40  CEASE  FIRING 

Mississippi  River.  Right  big  eel,  is  n't  it  ?  Rushed  through  —  two 
sections,  Anderson's  battery  —  from  Jackson.  Horses  yet  on  the 
road.  Impressed  mules.  —  Lieutenant  Norgrove,  tell  those  darkies 
there's  a  watermelon  field  in  front  of  them  and  'paterollers'  behind! 
—  Pull  there!  pull!" 

The  howitzer  came  slowly  up  from  halfway  to  China,  the  Napoleon 
followed,  infantry  encouraging.  "You've  trained  your  mules 
quick!  That  gun  came  from  the  Tredegar,  did  n't  it  ?  Artillery  's  a 
mighty  no-account  arm,  but  you  sort  of  somehow  grow  fond  of  it  —  " 

"Are  n't  you  all  Virginia  ?" 

"Yes;  th  Virginia.  Are  n't  you  all  — " 

"Of  course  we  are!  Botetourt.  Anderson's  battery. —  What's 
the  matter,  Flecker?" 

"Firing  ahead,  sir,  and  those  negroes  are  getting  ready  to  stamp 
ede—" 

There  broke  and  increased  a  wild  night-time  sputter  of  minies. 
Panic  took  the  chance  medley  of  negroes.  They  sprang  from  the 
horses,  paid  no  heed  to  appeal  or  threat,  twisted  themselves  from 
clutching  hands,  and  vanished  into  darkness.  Artillery,  infantry 
helping,  got  the  guns  on  somehow.  Amid  a  zip  —  zip  —  zip  of 
minies  both  arms  came  to  a  grey  breastwork  where  Stephen  D.  Lee 
was  walking  up  and  down  behind  a  battery  already  placed. 

The  dull  light  and  rattle  of  skirmishes  in  the  night  died  away. 
With  it  died,  too,  the  rain.  The  dawn  came  spectrally,  with  a  mist 
over  McNutt's  Lake.  One  of  Sherman's  division  commanders  had 
received  orders  to  bridge  this  water  during  the  night.  Over  the 
mournful,  water-logged  land  the  pontoons  were  brought  from  the 
Yazoo.  Standing  in  the  chill  water,  under  the  sweep  of  rain  the  blue 
engineers  and  their  men  worked  courageously  away,  but  when  dawn 
came  the  pale  light  discovered  the  fact  that  they  had  not  bridged  the 
lake  at  all,  but  merely  a  dim,  Briareus  arm  of  the  bayou,  wandering 
off  into  the  forest.  They  took  up  the  pontoons,  moved  down  the 
shore  to  the  widening  of  the  water,  and  tried  again.  But  now  the 
water  was  too  wide.  There  were  not  boats  enough,  and  while  they 
were  making  a  raft,  the  wood  across  McNutt's  filled  with  men,  grey 
as  the  dawn.  Tawny-red  broke  the  flames  from  the  sharpshooters' 
rifles.  A  well-placed  Confederate  battery  began,  too,  to  talk,  and 
the  lake  was  not  bridged. 


CHICKASAW  BAYOU  41 

Barton's  brigade  had  come  down  to  occupy  the  wood.  When  the 
bridge  builders  were  driven  away,  it  fell  back  to  the  high  ground 
crested  with  slight  works,  seamed  with  rifle-pits,  where  were  Vaughn 
and  Gregg  and  Stephen  D.  Lee.  Across  the  bayou  the  blue  began  to 
mass.  There  was  a  strip  of  corduroy  road,  a  meagre  bridge  spanning 
the  main  bayou,  then  a  narrow  encumbered  front,  muck  and  mire 
and  cypress  stumps,  and  all  the  felled  trees  thrown  into  a  grey  abatis. 
The  blue  had  as  many  divisions  as  the  grey  had  brigades,  but  the 
grey  position  was  very  strong.  On  came  the  dull,  December  day,  — 
raw,  cold,  with  a  lowering  sky. 

The  blue,  assaulting  force,  the  blue  reserves,  the  division  com 
manders,  drew  shoulders  together,  brows  together,  and  looked 
across  and  upward  doubtfully  enough  at  the  bluffs  they  were  ex 
pected  to  take.  Wade  the  bayou,  break  through  the  cane,  cross  that 
narrow  front  of  brush  and  morass,  attack  at  the  apex  of  a  triangle 
whose  base  and  sides  were  held  by  an  unknown  number  of  desperate 
Rebels  defending  Vicksburg,  a  place  that  had  got  the  name  for  ob 
stinacy! —  the  blue  troops  and  their  generals,  however  hard  they 
tried,  could  not  at  all  visualize  success.  All  the  prospect,  —  the 
opposite  height  and  the  small  grey  batteries,  the  turbid,  winding 
waters  and  the  woods  so  strange  to  Northern  eyes,  —  all  was 
hostile,  lowering.  Indiana,  Ohio,  Illinois,  Iowa  drew  uneasy  breath, 
it  was  so  sinister  a  place! 

An  officer  came  from  Sherman  to  the  senior  division  commander. 
"General  Sherman  says,  sir,  that  you  will  order  the  assault." 

"It 's  a  bad  place  - 

"Yes.  He  says  we  will  lose  five  thousand  men  before  we  take 
Vicksburg  and  that  we  might  as  well  lose  them  here  as  anywhere." 

"All  right.  We'll  lose  them  all  right.  Tell  him  I'll  give  the 
signal." 

A  grey  rifle-pit,  dug  along  the  face  of  the  hill,  had  received  since 
dawn  the  attention  of  blue  sharpshooters  stationed  in  a  distant  row 
of  moss-draped  trees.  The  bottom  of  the  long  trench  was  all  slippery 
mud,  the  sides  were  mud,  the  out-thrown,  heaped  earth  atop  was 
mud.  Rest  a  rifle  barrel  upon  it  and  the  metal  sank  as  into  water. 
The  screen  of  scrub  along  the  forward  rim  was  drenched,  broken, 
insufficient.  Through  it  the  men  in  the  pit  looked  out  on  a  sodden 
world.  They  saw  a  shoulder  of  the  hill  where,  in  the  early  light,  the 


4*  CEASE   FIRING 

caisson  of  an  isolated  gun  had  been  exploded  by  a  Federal  shell. 
Horses  and  men  lay  beside  it,  mangled.  Farther  away  yet,  and 
earlier  yet,  they  had  seen  a  reconnoitring  party  enter  a  finger  of 
land  crooking  toward  the  Federal  lines,  and  beyond  the  cover  of  the 
grey  guns.  The  blue,  too,  had  seen,  and  thrusting  forward  a  regi 
ment  cut  off  the  grey  party.  The  bulk  of  the  latter  hewed  its  way 
through,  back  to  the  shelter  of  the  grey  Parrotts,  but  there  were 
officers  and  men  left  wounded  in  the  wood.  —  The  day  was  gloomy, 
gloomy!  The  smoke  from  Stephen  Lee's  guns  and  from  the  answer 
ing  Federal  batteries  hung  clogged  and  indiffusible,  dark  and  hard. 

"Somebody's  going  to  get  hurt  this  day/'  said  the  men  in  the 
rifle-pits.  "There  ain't  any  joke  about  this  place." 

"Do  you  know  I  think  they're  going  to  charge  us?  Just  as  brave 
as  they  are  foolish!" 

"I  don't  think  much  of  Sherman's  capacities  as  a  general.  Grant's 
the  better  man." 

"They're  getting  ready.  —  Well,  I  always  did  hate  waste,  what 
ever  colour  it  was  dressed  in!" 

"My  God!  Even  their  bugles  don't  sound  cheerful!  — 

Chickasaw  —  Chickasatw  Bayou 

The  death  of  you  —  the  death  of  you  !  " 

Edward  Gary,  loading  his  rifle,  had  the  cartridge  knocked  from 
between  his  fingers  by  the  swaying  against  him  of  the  man  on  the 
right.  He  moved,  and  the  corpse  slid  softly  down  upon  the  miry 
bottom  of  the  pit. 

The  man  on  the  left  began  to  talk,  a  slow,  quiet  discourse  not 
at  all  interfering  with  eye  or  hand.  "Western  troops,  I  reckon! 
They've  always  the  best  sharpshooters.  —  Is  he  dead?  I'm  sorry. 
I  liked  Abner.  He  had  an  application  in  for  furlough.  Wife  ill  after 
the  baby  was  born,  and  the  doctor  writing  that  there  might  be  a 
chance  to  save  her  mind  if  she  could  see  Abner.  Told  me  last  night 
he  was  sure  he'd  get  the  furlough.  —  Can  you  see  for  those  damned 
bushes  ?  There's  a  perfectly  hellish  fuss  down  there." 

"The  guns  echo  so.  Here  they  come!  And  God  knows  I  am  sorry 
for  them  —  for  Abner  here  and  Abner  there!  Martin,  I  hate  War." 

"It  ain't  exactly  Christian,  and  it's  so  damned  avoidable. — 
The  baby  died,  and  I  reckon  his  wife  —  and  she  was  a  sweet,  pretty 
girl  —  '11  go  to  the  Asylum  at  Williamsburg  — " 


CHICKASAW   BAYOU  43 

"Here  they  come!  —  Here  they  come!  —  Here  they  come! "  .  .  . 
Fire! 

...  At  last  the  dreadful  repulse  was  over.  Shattered,  disorgan 
ized,  in  sullen  and  horrible  confusion,  Sherman's  brigades,  the  four 
that  had  charged,  sank  downward  and  back,  a  torn  and  beaten  blue 
wave,  into  the  dark  forest  beyond  the  bayou,  the  bayou  whence 
they  had  come.  In  the  water,  in  the  mire  and  marsh  and  swamp, 
beside  the  sloughs  in  the  forest,  through  the  wild  tangle  of  the  abatis, 
over  the  narrow  cleared  ground,  at  the  foot  of  the  bluffs  they  had 
tried  to  storm,  lay  thick  the  dead  and  wounded.  They  did  not 
number  Sherman's  "five  thousand,"  but  then  neither  was  Vicksburg 
taken.  The  blue  had  charged  without  order,  all  formation  broken, 
forced  together  in  a  narrow  space,  and  they  had  rolled,  a  broken 
flood,  back  upon  the  dark  bayou.  As  the  rain  had  fallen  in  fhe  night 
time,  so  now  fell  the  grey  shot  and  shell,  and  they  were  beaten  down 
like  wheat  beneath  hail.  The  chill  air  was  filled  with  whistling.  The 
pall  of  the  smoke  added  itself  to  the  pall  of  the  clouds.  It  was  like 
fighting  under  a  great  and  dingy  tent  with  the  stark  cypress  trees 
for  tent  poles.  By  the  closing-down  of  day  the  desperately  defeated 
had  rolled  back  toward  the  Yazoo.  Their  dead  and  dying  strewed 
the  tent  floor. 

If  there  was  relief  and  exultation  on  the  heights  it  found  no  stren 
uous  voice.  The  dreariness  of  the  day  and  place,  the  streaming 
wet  and  sighing  wind  somehow  forbade.  The  grey  loss  was  slight 
enough  —  two  hundred  men,  perhaps,  in  killed  and  wounded. 
Some  lay  within  or  below  the  rude  works,  some  upon  the  hillside  and 
the  low  ground  where  there  had  been  a  countercharge,  some  down 
by  the  abatis,  fallen  before  the  pursuit  was  recalled.  It  had  been  idle 
really  to  pursue.  Sherman  had  thirty  thousand,  and  the  gunboats. 
A  detachment  or  two  streamed  down,  over  the  fatal  and  difficult 
ground,  dislodging  from  a  momentary  shelter  some  fragment  of  the 
blue  wave,  cutting  off  and  taking  prisoner.  Occasional  thunder  came 
from  a  battery,  or  a  crack  of  rifles  shook  the  clinging  gloom.  But 
the  atmosphere  deadened  the  sound,  and  the  rain  came  down  again 
fine  and  cold,  and  though  the  grey  soldiers  had  reason  for  cheer  and 
tried  their  best,  it  was  but  a  makeshift  glee.  They  had  known  hot 
joy  in  battle  and  would  know  it  again,  but  it  did  not  haunt  the  fight 
of  Chickasaw  Bayou. 


44  CEASE  FIRING 

There  were  yet  the  wounded  that  the  reconnoitring  party  had  left 
behind  in  the  twilight  wood.  Volunteers  were  called  for  to  bring 
them  in.  The  wood  crooked  toward  the  enemy's  lines,  might  at 
any  moment  be  overflowed  by  the  blue.  Edward  was  among  those 
who  stood  forward.  The  lieutenant  of  the  other  night  beside  the 
Yallabusha  raised  his  brows.  "Don't  volunteer  too  often,"  he  said. 
"There's  no  promotion  in  a  trench  with  a  hundred  others!  Fur 
loughs  can  be  too  long." 

In  the  dusk  the  platoon  went  zigzagging  down  into  the  wood  by 
the  bayou.  It  went  through  the  zone  of  Federal  wounded.  "Oh,  you 
people!  take  us  up;  take  us  out  of  this!  OGod  —  O  God  —  0  God! 
Water!"  To  the  last  cry  neither  grey  nor  blue  in  this  war  failed  to 
answer  when  they  could.  Despite  all  need  for  haste  and  caution 
there  were  halts  now,  canteen  or  cup  held  to  thirsty  lips,  here  or 
there  a  man  helped  nearer  to  muddy  pool  or  stream.  "  Take  us  up  — 
take  us  out  of  this/" 

The  grey  shook  their  heads.  "Can't  do  that,  Yanks.  We  would 
if  we  could,  but  we're  sent  to  get  our  own.  Reckon  your  side '11  be 
sending  a  flag  of  truce  directly  and  gather  you  up.  Oh,  yes,  they 
will !  We  would  if  we  could.  You  charged  like  hell  and  fought  first- 
rate!" 

"Silence,  men!  Get  on!" 

It  was  dusk  enough  in  the  wood  which  they  finally  reached.  The 
bayou  went  through  it  crookedly,  and  from  the  other  side  of  the 
water  came  the  hum  of  Sherman's  troubled,  recriminatory  thou 
sands.  They  were  so  close  that  orders  might  be  heard  and  the  tread 
of  the  sentries.  The  men  in  grey  broke  rank,  moved,  two  and  two, 
cautiously  through  the  cane  looking  for  the  wounded.  The  cane 
grew  thick,  and  for  all  it  was  so  sodden  wet  might  be  trusted  here  or 
there  for  a  crackling  sound.  The  trees  grew  up  straight  from  black 
mud.  They  were  immensely  tall  and  from  their  branches  hung 
yards  and  yards  of  moss,  like  tatters  of  old  sails  or  like  shrivelled 
banners  in  a  cathedral  roof.  Large  birds  sat,  too,  upon  the  higher 
limbs,  watching.  Beneath  lay  killed  and  wounded,  a  score  or  so  of 
forms  half  sunk  in  the  universal  swamp.  The  searchers  left  the  dead, 
but  where  there  was  life  in  a  figure  they  laid  hold  of  it,  head  and  feet, 
and  bore  it,  swiftly  and  silently  as  might  be,  out  of  the  wood,  back 
to  the  rising,  protected  ground. 


CHICKASAW   BAYOU  45 

Edward  and  the  man  with  him  found  an  officer  lying  between 
huge  knees  of  cypress.  The  cane  walled  him  in,  a  hand  and  arm 
hung  languid  in  the  dark  water.  Kneeling,  Edward  felt  the  heart. 
"He's  far  and  far  away,  but  there's  a  chance,  perhaps.  Take  the 
feet." 

Half  an  hour  later,  by  a  great  camp-fire  behind  a  battery,  sur 
geons  and  helpers  took  these  wounded  from  the  hands  of  the  men 
who  had  gone  after  them. 

Stephen  D.  Lee  and  General  Seth  Barton  were  standing  by. 
"Thank  God,"  said  the  former,  "for  a  small  field  hospital!  After 
Sharpsburg  —  ugh!" 

A  major  of  Wither's  brigade  walked  slowly  between  the  rows. 

"It  was  the th  Louisiana  cut  off  in  the  wood.  There 's  an  officer 

or  two  missing  — " 

"This  is  an  officer,  sir,"  said  Edward.  "He  was  living  when  we 
lifted  him— " 

General  Barton  came  across.  "He  is  not  living  now.  A  handsome 
man!  .  .  .  He  lies  there  so  stately.  ...  A  captain." 

Edward  held  out  his  hand  —  in  it  an  envelope.  "This  fell  from  his 
coat,  sir.  The  bullet  went  through  it  — "  The  movement  brought 
hand  and  letter  into  the  ruddy  light.  Involuntarily  he  uttered  an 
exclamation.  "It  is  addressed  to  me!" 

The  major  rose  from  his  knees.  "Quite  dead.  .  .  .  And  you 
would  have  called  him  Fortune's  favorite.  It  is  Louis  Gaillard 
from  down  the  river  —  Cape  Jessamine." 


CHAPTER  V 

FORT    PEMBERTON 

VAN  DORN'S  raid  and  the  battle  of  Chickasaw  Bayou  made 
of  naught  the  December  '62  — ^January  '63  push  against 
Vicksburg.  Grant  fell  back  to  Memphis.  McClernand, 
Sherman's  superior,  withdrew  the  thirty  thousand  column  from 
before  the  Walnut  Hills,  to  the  Yazoo  and  down  it,  into  the  Missis 
sippi  and  up  that  vast  and  turbid  stream.  His  forces  reunited,  Grant, 
a  stubborn,  good  soldier,  studied  in  his  quiet  fashion,  a  cigar  between 
his  teeth,  the  map  of  the  region.  His  instinct  was  always  to  strike  out 
straight  before  him.  The  river,  for  all  its  windings,  was  the  directest 
road  tc  Vicksburg.  Late  in  January  he  brought  a  great  army  down 
the  Mississippi  and  landed  it  on  the  Louisiana  side,  some  miles 
above  the  town  that  must  be  taken.  Here,  too,  above  the  line  of 
danger  from  the  grey  river  batteries,  he  anchored  his  ships-of- 
war. 

During  the  past  summer  the  Federal  General  Williams  had  con 
ceived  the  project  of  canalling  the  tongue  of  land  opposite  Vicks 
burg,  the  almost  islanded  sliver  of  Louisiana  soil.  Cut  through  this 
thumblike  projection,  fill  your  great  ditch  from  the  river,  let  your 
fleet  enter  at  Tuscumbia  Bend,  and  hey,  presto !  emerge  again  upon 
the  bosom  of  the  Mississippi  below  Vicksburg,  the  grey  river  batter 
ies  sweetly  ignored;  in  a  word  all  the  grey  defences  of  the  Mississippi 
above  Grand  Gulf  circumvented!  The  canal  seemed  worth  digging, 
and  so,  in  the  summer,  the  blue  had  digged.  But  the  summer  was 
dry  and  the  river  low;  it  refused  to  enter  the  prepared  by-path,  and 
after  a  series  of  disappointments  the  digging  had  been  discontinued. 
Now  the  season  was  wet,  and  the  river  brimming.  With  a  large 
force  of  engineers  and  sappers,  Grant  began  again  upon  the  canal. 
But  now  there  was  too  much  moisture  as  before  there  had  been  too 
little.  The  water  was  so  high  that  it  ran  into  a  hundred  paths  beside 
the  one  which  the  blue  were  digging.  It  turned  the  flat  Louisiana 
shore  into  lake  and  quagmire.  Impossible  to  trench  with  the  semi- 


FORT   PEMBERTON  47 

liquid  stuff  flowing  in  as  fast  as  it  was  thrown  out!  —  impossible  to 
keep  an  army  encamped  in  a  morass!  Again  there  was  a  with 
drawal. 

From  higher  ground  and  reaches  of  the  river  far  above  Vicksburg, 
Grant,  the  cigar  between  his  teeth,  parallel  lines  showing  across  his 
forehead,  studied  flank  movements.  .  .  .  The  Yazoo  again !  — 
though  it  seemed  a  stream  of  ill  omen.  Not  that  Grant  thought  of 
omens.  He  was  not  superstitious.  A  plain,  straightforward,  not  over- 
imaginative,  introspective,  or  sophisticated  person,  he  did  not  so 
much  plan  great  campaigns  as  take,  unswervingly,  the  next  common- 
sense  step.  His  merit  was  that,  in  the  all-pervading  fog  of  war,  it  was 
usually  upon  firm  ground  that  he  set  his  step.  Not  always,  but  usu 
ally.  The  Yazoo.  ...  It  flowed  southward  from  the  Tennessee 
line.  There  it  was  called  the  Coldwater.  Farther  down,  in  north 
ern  Mississippi  it  became  the  Tallahatchie,  into  which  flowed  the 
Yallabusha.  Lower  yet  it  was  named  the  Yazoo,  and  so  flowed  into 
the  Mississippi.  Throughout  its  course  it  drained  a  vast,  flat,  egg- 
shaped  lowland,  overshot  by  innumerable  lesser  streams,  lakes,  and 
bayous,  rising  into  ridge  and  bluff  at  the  southern  end  of  the  egg. 
Named  the  Valley  of  the  Yazoo,  it  was  reported  to  be  enormously 
fertile  and  a  storehouse  from  which  Vicksburg  and  all  the  exagger 
ated  grey  armies  in  Tennessee  and  Mississippi  were  fed.  Moreover, 
at  Yazoo  City,  where  the  three-named  stream  became  finally  the 
Yazoo,  there  existed,  said  Secret  Service,  a  big  Confederate  navy 
yard  where  gunboats  were  rapidly  hatching.  To  get  into  that  valley 
from  the  northern  end,  come  down  those  rivers,  surprise  Yazoo  City 
and  spoil  the  nest  of  gunboats,  then  on  like  a  swooping  hawk  and  take 
Vicksburg  in  the  rear!  .  .  .  Grant  put  out  his  hand  for  another 
cigar.  But  the  Valley  of  the  Yazoo  was  said  to  be  in  effect  roadless, 
and  though  the  Yazoo  from  Yazoo  City  downwards  was  navigable, 
the  Tallahatchie  and  the  Coldwater  were  not.  Then  came  in  Ad 
miral  Porter  with  a  well-considered  plan,  though  an  audacious  one 
and  ticklishly  dependent  upon  a  thousand  circumstances. 

Some  distance  below  Memphis  there  was  a  point  where  the  Miss 
issippi  and  the  Coldwater  came  within  calling  distance  of  each 
other.  Between  was  only  the  Yazoo  Pass  —  and  Yazoo  Pass  was  a 
bayou  which  anciently  had  connected  the  two.  Anciently,  not  now; 
for  years  before  a  levee  had  been  built,  shutting  off  bayou  from  river, 


48  CEASE  FIRING 

and  preventing  untoward  floods  in  the  upper  Yazoo  Valley.  Assemble 
a  fleet  over  against  Yazoo  Pass,  cut  the  levee,  and  so  lift  the  water 
in  the  Coldwater  and  the  Tallahatchie,  then  proceed  down  those 
streams  with  the  vessel s-of- war  and  as  many  transports  as  needed, 
take  Yazoo  City,  enter  the  Yazoo,  and  so  on  triumphantly!  Grant 
chewed  the  end  of  his  cigar,  then  nodded  acquiescence. 

On  the  third  of  February,  after  much  time  spent  in  digging,  they 
laid  and  exploded  a  mine.  The  levee  broke  in  rout  and  ruin.  Like  a 
tiger  from  the  jungle  out  leaped  the  Mississippi,  roaring  down  to  the 
bayou.  Yazoo  Pass  became  a  furious  yellow  torrent,  here  spume 
and  eddy,  here  torn  arms  of  trees,  an  abatis  in  motion.  The  Cold- 
water  received  the  flood  and  bore  it  on  to  the  Tallahatchie.  But  so 
angry  were  the  churning  waters  by  the  gate  in  the  levee  that  days 
passed  before  the  ironclads  DeKalb  and  Chillicothe,  the  rams  Fulton 
and  Lioness,  the  tinclads  Forest  Rose,  Marmora,  Rattler,  Romeo, 
Petrel,  and  Signal,  and  all  the  transports  in  the  rear  could  attempt 
that  new-made  passage.  At  last  they  did  enter  the  Yazoo  Pass  and 
made  slow  way  to  the  Coldwater,  only  presently  to  find  that  the 
grey  troops  had  felled  the  tall,  tall  trees  on  either  bank  and  thrown 
them  into  the  stream.  There,  arms  interlocked,  they  made  for  miles 
an  effective  barrier,  removed  only  after  slow  days  and  days  of  effort. 
The  stream  wound  like  a  tortured  serpent.  There  presented  them 
selves  strange  currents,  pits,  and  shoals.  The  bed  was  unknown, 
save  that  it  possessed  a  huge  variety  of  snag,  bar,  and  obstacle.  The 
flood  was  narrow,  and  the  thick  overhanging  forest  obscured  and 
fretted.  Every  turn  presented  a  fresh  difficulty.  The  fleet  made 
three  miles  a  day.  Behind  it  crept,  crept  the  transports,  forty-five 
hundred  men  under  Generals  Ross  and  Quinby.  There  was  much 
sickness  and  the  fret,  fret  of  utter  delay.  It  was  late  February  before 
the  expedition  entered  the  Coldwater,  early  March  before  it  ap 
proached  the  Tallahatchie.  Here  it  encountered  afresh  felled  trees 
like  endless  bundles  of  jackstraws,  thrown  vigorously,  crossed  under 
water  at  every  imaginable  angle.  A  little  later  the  blue  scouts 
brought  news  of  Fort  Pemberton. 

The  Southern  spring  was  at  hand,  a  mist  of  young  leaf  and  bloom, 
a  sound  of  birds,  a  sapphire  sky,  a  vapour,  a  warmth,  a  rhythm. 
Edward  Gary  loved  it,  and  said  that  he  did  so,  lying  after  supper,  on 
the^bank  of  the  Tallahatchie,  under  the  cotton-bale  rampart  of  the 


FORT   PEMBERTON  49 

cotton-bale  fort  that  was  to  keep  the  enemy  out  of  the  Yazoo.  The 
rest  of  the  mess  agreed  —  lovely  spring,  lovely  evening!  They  lit 
corn-cob  pipes  and  clay  pipes  and  fig-stem  pipes,  and  stretched 
themselves  on  a  meagre  bit  of  dry  earth,  beside  a  clump  of  Spanish 
bayonet.  The  sun  dipped  behind  the  woods  across  the  river,  leaving 
air  and  water  an  exquisite  coral.  There  were  seven  men  —  five  pri 
vates,  a  corporal,  and  a  sergeant-major.  All  were  tall  and  all  were 
lean  and  none  was  over  thirty.  One  bore  an  old  Huguenot  name 
and  the  forbear  of  one  was  a  Highland  chief.  The  others  were  mainly 
of  English  stock,  names  of  Devon,  Surrey,  and  Sussex.  Two  were 
university  men,  sons  of  great  planters,  born  into  a  sunny  and  settled 
world  that  after  their  majority  overclouded.  Three  had  less  of  that 
kind  of  fortune  and  had  left  for  the  war  a  lawyer's  office,  a  tobacco 
warehouse,  and  an  experiment  in  mining.  The  sergeant-major  was 
of  the  yeoman  type,  a  quiet  man  with  little  book  learning  and  a  name 
in  the  regiment  for  courage  and  resource.  The  seventh  man,  very 
young,  a  grown-up-anyhow  bit  of  mortality,  who  until  he  came  to 
handle  steel  had  worked  in  iron,  stood  next,  perhaps,  to  Edward  Gary 
in  the  affections  of  the  mess.  Dreadful  as  was  this  war,  it  had  as  a 
by-product  the  lessening  of  caste.  Men  came  together  and  worked 
together  as  men,  not  as  conventions. 

"Yes,  it  is  lovely,"  said  the  warehouse  man.  "I  used  to  think  a 
deal  about  beauty." 

"Woman's  beauty?" 

"No.  Just  plain  beauty.  Cloud  or  sea  or  face  or  anywhere  you 
found  it.  At  the  end  of  every  furrow,  as  Jim  might  say." 

Jim,  who  was  the  sergeant,  shook  out  rings  of  smoke.  "It  ain't 
only  at  the  end  of  the  furrow.  I've  seen  it  in  the  middle." 

The  worker  in  iron  stretched  his  thin  body,  hands  under  his  young 
head.  "I  like  fall  better 'n  spring.  Late  fall  when  it's  all  red  and 
still,  and  at  night  there  are  shooting  stars.  Spring  makes  me 
sad." 

"What  are  you  doing  with  sadness?"  asked  Edward.  "You  had 
as  well  talk  of  Jack-o '-Lantern  being  sad!  —  I  like  all  seasons,  each 
with  its  proper  magnificence!  Look  at  that  pine,  black  as  wrath  — " 

"Look  at  the  pink  water  about  the  old  Star  of  the  West  — 

1  The  charmed  water  burnt  alway 
A  still  and  awful  red.'" 


50  CEASE  FIRING 

"I  hated  to  see  the  Star  sunken.  After  all  her  fighting  —  Sumter 
and  all—" 

"Well,  we've  put  her  where  she'll  fight  again!  It's  a  kind  of  Val 
halla  ending  to  lie  there  across  Grant's  path." 

"You  can  see  a  bit  of  spar.  And  the  rosy  water  all  around  —  rosy 
as  hope.  Do  you  hear  that  bird  over  there  in  the  swamp?  Boom  — 
boom  —  boom!  Mournful  as  a  whip-poor-will.  .  .  .  Heavens!  if  I 
could  hear  the  whip-poor-wills  in  Virginia!  —  Have  you  got  any 
tobacco?" 

The  soldier  from  the  lawyer's  office  sat  up.  "  Grand  Rounds  ? 
No.  It 's  the  General  by  himself!  Heard  him  say  once  he  had  a  taste 
for  sunsets." 

Loring,  one-armed  since  Mexico,  impatiently  brave,  with  a  gift 
for  phrases,  an  air,  and  a  bearing,  came  down  the  threadlike  path 
through  the  palmetto  scrub.  With  three  guns  and  fifteen  hundred 
men  he  held  this  absurd  structure  called  Fort  Pemberton,  and  from 
hour  to  hour  glanced  up  the  Tallahatchie  with  an  experienced  and 
careless  eye.  If  he  expected  anything  more  than  a  play  flotilla  of 
cock-boats,  his  demeanour  did  not  show  it.  In  practice,  however,  he 
kept  a  very  good  drill  and  outlook,  his  pieces  trained,  his  earthworks 
stout  as  they  might  be  in  the  water-soaked  bottom  lands,  and  he  had 
with  discretion  sunk  the  Star  of  the  West  where  she  lay,  cross  chan 
nel,  above  the  fort.  He  was  very  well  liked  by  his  soldiers. 

The  seven  on  the  river  bank  rose  and  saluted.  He  made  the  an 
swering  gesture,  then  after  a  moment  of  gazing  up  the  Tallahatchie 
walked  over  to  a  great  piece  of  driftwood  and  seated  himself,  draw 
ing  his  cloak  about  him  with  his  one  hand. 

"  I  want  to  study  that  water  a  bit.  Go  on  with  your  pipes,  men. 
—  I  thought  I  smelled  coffee." 

"It  was  made  of  sweet  potato,  sir,"  said  the  sergeant-major  re 
gretfully,  "and  I'm  afraid  we  did  n't  leave  a  drop.  We're  mighty 
sorry,  sir." 

"Well,"  said  Loring  amicably,  "I  don't  really  like  sweet  potato 
coffee,  though  I  'd  drink  brimstone  coffee  if  there  were  no  other  kind 
of  coffee  around.  That 's  one  of  the  things  I  never  could  understand 
about  General  Jackson  —  he  never  drinks  coffee.  The  time  we  could 
all  have  sold  our  souls  for  coffee  was  that  damned  Bath  and 
Romney  trip  .  .  .  Ugh!"  He  gazed  a  moment  longer  on  the  rosy, 


FORT   PEMBERTON  51 

narrow  stream  and  the  violet  woods  across,  then  turned  his  eyes. 

"You're  th  Virginia?  There  isn't  one  of  you  a  Gary  by 

chance?" 

"I  am  Edward  Gary,  sir." 

1 c  Come  across,  "said  Loring ;  and  when  he  came  gave  him  a  knotted 
arm  of  the  driftwood.  "I  heard  from  Fauquier  Gary  not  long  ago, 
and  he  said  you  were  down  this  way  and  to  look  out  for  you.  He  said 
he  did  n't  know  whether  you  were  a  survival  or  a  prophecy,  but  that 
anyhow  your  family  idolized  you.  He  said  that  from  all  he  had  read 
and  observed  War  had  an  especial  spite  against  your  kind  — which, 
perhaps,"  said  Loring,  "is  not  a  thing  to  tell  you." 

Edward  laughed.  "As  to  War,  sir,  the  feeling  is  reciprocal.  He's 
of  those  personalities  who  do  not  improve  on  acquaintance.  —  Dear 
Fauquier!  The  family  idolizes  him  now,  if  you  like!" 

"  Yes,  he 's  of  the  finest.  I  knew  him  in  Mexico.  Gallant  as  they 
make  them!  —  He  has  lost  an  arm." 

"Yes  —  at  Sharpsburg." 

"It's  no  little  loss,"  said  Loring.  "By  the  way  —  you  knew 
Maury  Stafford?" 

"Yes." 

"The  word  'Sharpsburg'  brought  him  up.  He  was  taken  prisoner 
there  —  unfortunate  fellow!  There  has  been  no  exchange  ?" 

"I  have  heard  of  none.  They  will  not  exchange." 

"Infernal  tactics!" 

"It 's  all  infernal.  I  have  grown  to  see  no  sense  in  this  war.  North 
and  South,  we  surely  might  have  been  wiser." 

"That  may  be,"  said  Loring.  "But  we  are  in  it  now  and  must 
act  according  to  tradition.  —  Maury  Stafford! — He  was  with  me 
during  that  wretched,  abortive,  freezing,  and  starving  Romney 
expedition.  I  was  very  fond  of  him.  It  aches  me  to  think  of  him  in 
prison." 

Edward  sighed.  "Yes,  I  am  sorry,  too." 

"  Was  he  not,"  asked  Loring, "  was  he  not  engaged  to  your  sister?  " 

"No." 

"Indeed  ?  I  thought  some  one  told  me  so.  ...  He  has  a  fine 
nature." 

"In  many  ways  —  yes." 

"Well,  we  may  be  talking  of  the  dead.  No  one  seems  to  have 


52  CEASE  FIRING 

heard.  It's  like  a  tomb  —  prison!  North  and  South,  they  die  like 
flies.  .  .  .  Damn  it  all,  such  is  war!" 

"Yes,  sir.  ...  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  isn't  there  something 
moving  on  the  river  —  very  far  up,  beyond  that  line  of  purple  ?  " 

Loring  whipped  out  his  field-glass,  looked,  and  rose  from  the 
driftwood.  "Gunboats!"  A  bugle  blew  from  the  earth-and-cotton- 
bale  fort,  drums  began  to  roll.  "  Get  to  your  places,  men !  If  Grant 
thinks  I  am  going  to  let  him  get  by  here,  he's  just  mistaken,  that's 
all!" 

With  three  guns  and  fifteen  hundred  men  and  cotton-bale  walls 
and  the  sunken  Star  of  the  West,  Loring  made  good  his  words  — 
though  it  was  not  Grant  in  front  of  him,  but  Grant's  lieutenants. 
Two  ironclads,  two  rams,  seven  tinclads  crept  up  that  night,  anchor 
ing  above  the  sunken  Star.  Behind  them  came  slowly  on  the  trans 
ports  with  the  forty-five  hundred  infantry.  Dawn  broke,  and  the 
gunboats,  feeling  their  way,  found  the  Star.  Vexation  and  delay! 
They  undertook  to  blow  her  up,  and  while  they  sank  torpedoes  the 
transports  nosed  along  the  river  bank  trying  to  find  firm  landing  in  a 
bottom  country  flooded  alike  by  the  spring  rains  and  the  far-away 
broken  levee.  They  could  not  find  it,  and  on  board  there  was  rest 
lessness  and  complaining.  The  Star  of  the  West  was  hard  to  raise. 
She  clung  fast,  fought  stanchly  still  for  the  Stars  and  Bars.  .  .  .  The 
third  day  the  Chillicothe  and  DeKalb  got  by,  steamed  down  to  the 
fort,  and  began  a  raking  fire.  The  rams,  too,  and  several  of  the  tin 
clads  came  wriggling  through  the  clearance  in  the  channel.  There 
followed  a  three  days'  bombardment  of  the  crazy  fort,  all  hastily 
heaped  earth  and  cotton  bales,  rude  trenches,  rough  platforms  for 
the  guns,  all  squat  in  the  marshy  land,  wreathed  with  cannon  smoke, 
musket  smoke,  topped  by  the  red  square  with  the  blue  and  starry 
cross!  Behind  the  screen  of  the  gunboats  the  transports  sought  con 
tinuously  for  some  terra  firma  where  the  troops  might  land.  They 
could  not  find  it.  All  was  swamp,  overflowing  waters,  half-submerged 
trees.  Above  waved  Spanish  moss,  swung  vines  spangled  with  sweet- 
smelling,  satiny  yellow  bloom. 

The  smoke  from  the  river,  the  smoke  from  Loring's  three  guns  and 
fifteen  hundred  muskets  met  and  blended,  and,  spreading,  roofed 
out  the  cerulean,  tender  sky.  Looking  up,  his  men  saw  Loring, 
mature,  imposing,  standing  high  on  the  cotton-bale  parapet,  his 


FORT   PEMBERTON  53 

empty  sleeve  pinned  to  his  coat,  gesturing  with  the  remaining  arm, 
about  him  the  grey  battle  breath,  above  him  the  flag. 

"Give  them  blizzards,  boys!  Give  them  blizzards!"  roared 
Loring. 

The  most  daring  of  the  transports  put  a  party  ashore.  But  what 
to  do?  They  struck  out  toward  the  fort  and  plunged  waist  deep  into 
a  mocking  slough  of  the  forest.  Out  of  this  they  crossed  a  bank  like 
mud  turtles,  and  came  into  the  wide  overflow  of  a  bayou.  Beyond 
was  a  tangle  of  cane  and  vine,  and  here  they  began  to  feel  the  bullets 
of  hidden  grey  sharpshooters.  Beyond  the  cane  was  a  cypress  swamp, 
impossible  twisted  roots,  knees,  and  hummocks;  between,  deep 
threads  of  water  and  bottomless  black  mire.  Miserable  and  useless 
fight  with  an  earth  like  this !  The  party  turned,  got  back  —  torn, 
bemired,  panting  with  fatigue  —  to  the  transports,  ranged  behind 
the  gunboats  and  the  cloud  of  smoke  and  the  thunder  of  the  iron 
men.  Night  came  down,  the  smoke  parted,  stars  shone  out. 

Dawn  came,  and  the  battle  renewed  itself.  Red  flashes  tore  the 
mist  on  the  Tallahatchie  and  the  roaring  sound  made  the  birds  flee 
the  woodland.  The  gunboats  worked  hard,  all  unsupported  by  the 
blue  infantry.  The  officers  of  the  last  stamped  upon  the  transports' 
decks.  So  near  and  yet  so  far!  After  weeks  of  tortoise  crawling! 
Try  again!  Boats  were  lowered,  filled,  sent  up  bayous,  along  creeks 
spiralling  like  unwound  thread,  or  brought  alongside  some  bit  of 
bank  with  an  air  of  firmness.  Vain!  The  bit  of  bank  gave  and  gave 
under  the  cautious  foot;  the  bayou  spilled  out  upon  plains  of  black 
mire  in  which  you  sank  to  the  middle;  the  creeks  corkscrewed  away 
from  Fort  Pemberton.  ...  In  the  afternoon  the  Chillicothe  got  a 
shell  through  her  sides.  The  day  went  down  in  thunder  and  sulphur 
ous  cloud,  the  fleet  belching  broadsides,  Fort  Pemberton  loudly 
replying,  Loring  on  the  ramparts  shouting,  "Give  them  blizzards, 
boys!  Give  them  blizzards!" 

In  the  morning  the  Rattler  turned  and  went  back  to  the  Cold- 
water,  Yazoo  Pass,  and  the  Mississippi,  in  her  cabin  Watson  Smith 
commanding  the  expedition,  ill  for  days  and  now  like  to  die.  His 
second  took  command  and  the  third  day's  struggle  began.  But  the 
Chillicothe  again  was  roughly  handled,  and  certain  of  the  tinclads 
were  in  trouble.  A  ram,  too,  had  lost  her  smokestack  and  carried  a 
ragged  hole  just  above  her  water  line.  And  the  infantry  could  not 


54  CEASE  FIRING 

land,  —  gave  up  the  attempt.  All  day  the  boats  on  the  Tallahatchie 
and  the  courtesy  fort  crouched  on  her  eastern  bank  roared  and 
tugged.  "Yaaih!  Yaaaii!  Yaaihh!"  rose  the  grey  shouting  through 
the  rolling  smoke.  Loring,  slightly  wounded,  came  out  of  a  crazy 
tent  at  the  back  of  the  enclosure,  crossed  the  encumbered  space, 
and  mounted  again  the  cotton  bales.  The  men  cheered  him  loud  and 
long.  "Old  Blizzard!  Old  Blizzard!  Yes,  sir!  Yes,  sir!  We 're  going 
to  give  them  snow,  rain,  hail,  and  sleet!" 

The  day  weltered  by,  the  rays  of  the  sunset  struck  through 
powder-stained  air.  Then  came  silence,  and  a  thinning  of  smoke, 
and  at  last  the  stars.  On  the  DeKalb  was  held  a  council  of  war.  The 
Chillicothe  badly  hurt,  the  commander  of  the  expedition  ill,  sent 
back  upon  the  Rattler,  Quinby's  men  not  yet  up,  Ross's  quite  unable 
to  land,  sickness,  tedium,  dissatisfaction,  Heaven  knew  what  going 
on  in  the  Mississippi  while  they  had  been  lost  for  endless  weeks  in  a 
no- thoroughfare  of  half  earth,  half  water,  overhung  by  miasmas! 
The  boats  alone  could  not  reduce  this  fort,  and  infantry  that  could 
not  land  was  no  better  than  infantry  in  the  moon !  Go  back  without 
anything  gained  ?  Well,  the  knowledge  was  gained  that  Vicksburg 
could  n't  be  taken  this  way  —  and  the  guns  had  probably  blown  out 
of  existence  some  scores  of  rebels !  That  much  was  gained.  Sick  and 
sore,  the  talk  pulled  this  way  and  that,  but  in  the  end  it  was  deter 
mined  to  put  back.  In  the  stillness  before  the  dawn  gunboats  and 
rams  and  tinclads  weighed  anchor  and  steamed  away,  slowly,  slowly 
up  the  difficult  reaches  of  the  Tallahatchie  and  Coldwater,  back  to 
Yazoo  Pass  and  so  out  into  the  Mississippi.  Behind  them  trailed  the 
transports.  At  the  mouth  of  Yazoo  Pass  they  met  with  a  scouting 
party  and  learned  of  a  second  expedition. 

Porter,  fertile  in  expedients,  was  conducting  this  in  person.  With 
five  Eads  gunboats  he  was  winding  southward  by  way  of  innumer 
able  joined  streams,  —  Steele's  Bayou,  Black  Bayou,  Deer  Creek, 
Rolling  Fork,  finally  the  Sunflower  which  empties  into  the  Yazoo,  — • 
while  accompanying  him  on  the  land  crept  and  mired  from  swamp 
to  swamp  troops  of  Sherman's.  Infantry  and  Eads  flotilla,  they 
reached  at  last  Rolling  Fork,  but  here  they  met  grey  troops  and  a 
determined  check.  Infantry  proved  as  helpless  in  the  swamps  of  the 
Sunflower  as  infantry  had  proved  in  the  swamps  of  the  Tallahatchie. 
Moreover  detached  grey  parties  took  to  felling  trees  and  crossing 


FORT   PEMBERTON  55 

them  in  the  stream  behind  the  gunboats.  Porter  saw  himself  becom 
ing  the  eel  in  the  bottle,  penned  in  grey  toils.  Nothing  for  it  but 
to  turn,  figuratively  to  back  out  —  the  region  being  one  of  all  the 
witches! 

The  Tallahatchie  expedition,  the  Sunflower  expedition,  returned 
to  the  Father  of  Waters.  Here,  on  the  western  bank,  they  found 
Grant,  cigar  in  mouth,  lines  across  brow,  studying  the  map  between 
Vicksburg  and  Port  Hudson.  Upon  the  grey  side  Loring  waited  at 
Fort  Pemberton  until  his  scouts  brought  news  of  the  clearance  of 
the  Yazoo  Valley,  but  he  waited  with  only  half  his  force,  the  other 
moiety  being  withdrawn  to  Vicksburg. 

Edward  Gary,  marching  with  these  troops,  marched  into  Vicks 
burg  on  an  April  day,  —  Vicksburg  indomitable;  Vicksburg  with  a 
wretchedly  inadequate  number  of  picks  and  spades  extending  her 
lines  of  breastworks,  forming  salients,  mounting  batteries,  digging 
trenches,  incidentally  excavating  refuges  —  alias  "rat-holes"  — 
for  her  non-combatant  citizens;  Vicksburg  extremely  busy,  with  an 
air  of  gaiety  not  altogether  forced!  Life,  nowadays,  had  always  and 
everywhere  a  deep  organ  bass,  but  that  was  no  reason  the  cymbals 
and  castanets  should  not  come  in  if  they  could. 

That  afternoon,  in  an  encampment  just  below  the  town,  he  came 
into  possession  of  an  accumulation  of  mail,  home  letters,  letters  from 
comrades  in  various  commands,  other  letters.  It  was  a  time  of  rest 
after  arduous  marching.  All  around  him,  on  the  warm  spring  earth, 
lay  the  men  of  his  company.  They,  too,  had  letters  and  long-delayed 
newspapers.  They  read  the  letters  first,  mused  over  them  a  little, 
with  faces  wistful  or  happy  or  tragically  anxious  as  the  case  might 
be,  then  turned  with  avidity  to  the  papers,  old  though  they  were. 
A  little  man  with  a  big,  oratorical  voice  had  got  a  Richmond  Ex 
aminer  of  a  none-too-recent  date.  Sitting  cross-legged  on  a  huge 
magnolia  stump  he  read  aloud  to  a  ring  of  listeners,  rolling  out  the 
items  like  a  big  bass  drum. 

"News  from  the  Mississippi  — " 

"That's  us!" 

"'As  we  go  to  press  it  is  reported  that  Grant  has  met  at  Fort 
Pemberton  a  worse  repulse  than  did  Sherman  at  Chickasaw  Bayou, 
the  gallant  Loring  and  his  devoted  band  inflicting  upon  the  invaders 
a  signal  defeat.  Thousands  were  slain  — '" 


56  CEASE  FIRING 

"Hm!  Old  Blizzard's  gallant  all  right,  and  we're  devoted  all 
right,  and  they're  invaders  all  right,  and  we  certainly  made  them 
clear  out  of  the  Yazoo  Valley,  but  somehow  I  did  n't  see  those  thou 
sands  slain!  Newspapers  always  do  exaggerate." 

"That's  true.  Nature  and  education  both.  North  and  South  — 
especially  North.  That  New  York  paper,  for  instance,  that  we  got 
from  the  picket  at  Chickasaw  — " 

"The  one  that  said  we  tortured  prisoners?1', 

"No.  The  one  that  said  we  mutilated  the  dead.  They're  all 
Ananiases.  Go  on,  Borrow." 

"'Farragut  has  succeeded  in  running  the  batteries  at  Fort  Hud 
son.  The  mouth  of  the  Red  River  — '" 

"We  know  all  that.  What  're  they  doing  in  Virginia  ?" 

"Marse  Robert  and  Stonewall  seem  to  be  holding  south  bank  of 
Rappahannock.  Fighting  Joe  Hooker  on  the  other  side's  got  some 
thing  up  his  sleeve.  He  and  '  the  finest  army  on  the  planet '  look  like 
moving.  The  paper  says  Sedgwick  's  tried  a  crossing  below  Freder- 
icksburg,  but  that  General  Lee 's  watching  Ely  and  Germanna  fords. 
Here's  an  account  of  Kelly's  Ford  and  the  death  of  Pelham  — " 

"Read  that,"  said  the  men. 

Edward  left  them  reading,  listening,  and  making  murmured  com 
ment.  At  a  little  distance  rose  a  copse  overrun  with  yellow  jessamine. 
Entering  this,  he  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  a  cedar  and,  laying  by  the 
home  letters  and  the  letters  from  comrades,  opened  one  written  on 
thin,  greyish  paper,  in  a  hand  slender  yet  bold:  — 

My  Heart,  — 

I  am  glad  that  it  was  you  who  found  him.  0  Louis,  Louis, 
Louis  !  ...  I  am  not  going  to  write  about  him.  ...  I  loved  him, 
and  he  loved  me.  .  .  .  Oh,  we  give,  we  give  in  this  war! 

I  hear  from  my  father,  broken-hearted  for  his  son,  tender  and 
loving  as  ever  to  his  daughter.  I  hear,  too,  from  your  father  —  a 
letter  to  keep  forever,  praising  you  to  me  so  nobly!  And  Judith  Gary 
has  written.  I  shall  love  her  well,  —  oh,  well ! 

Where  are  you  this  stormy  night  ?  I  sit  before  the  fire,  in  the  gilt 
chair,  and  the  magnolia  strikes  against  the  window  pane,  and  I  hear, 
far  off,  the  thunder  and  shouting,  and  if  I  could  I  would  stay  the 
bullets  with  my  hands. 


FORT   PEMBERTON  57 

The  enemy  is  cutting  the  levees  on  this  side,  up  and  down  the 
river.  If  they  cut  a  certain  one,  it  will  be  to  our  disaster  at  Cape 
Jessamine.  The  negroes  grow  frightened,  and  now  every  day  they 
leave.  I  did  not  mean  to  tell  you  all  this.  It  is  nothing. 

Where  are  you  this  night  of  rainy  wind?  I  look  into  the  fire  which 
is  low  at  this  hour,  and  I  see  ranged  cannon,  and  banners  that  rise 
and  fall.  And  may  the  morning  —  and  may  the  morning  bring  me 
a  letter!  Thine,  all  thine, 

DESIREE  GAILLARD. 

A  week  later,  having  been  granted  the  furlough  for  which  he 
asked,  he  found  himself  below  Natchez,  bargaining  with  two  black 
ferrymen  to  take  him  across  the  river. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  RIVER 

THE  two  men  were  strong,  magnificently  formed  negroes,  one 
middle-aged,  one  young.  "It  ain't  easy,  marster,"  said  the 
first.  "  River 's  on  er  rampage.  Jes'  er-look  how  she 's  swirlin' 
an'  spittin'  an'  sayin'  things!  An'  erbout  every  day  now  dar's  er 
crevasse!  Yankees  make  them  befo'  breakfast.  When  dishyer  river 
tuhns  sideways  an'  shakes  down  de  land  a  boat  ain'  so  safe  as  ef 
't  was  er  mountain-top." 

"Dat's  so!"  said  the  other.  "Hit's  wuth  twenty-five  dollars, 
Confederate  money." 

Edward  produced  and  held  between  thumb  and  forefinger  one 
gold  dollar. 

"Git  the  oars, Daniel !"  said  the  elder  negro.  "Yes,  sah,we  cer 
tainly  will  git  you  ercross  an'  down  the  river  the  best  we  kin!" 

Out  pushed  the  boat  into  the  yellow,  sullen  river.  It  was  running 
swift  and  rough.  Edward  sat  with  his  chin  in  his  hand,  his  eyes  upon 
the  farther  shore,  bathed  in  a  golden,  shimmering,  spring-time  light. 
It  was  slow  rowing  across  this  stream,  and  the  shore  far  off. 

The  negroes  began  to  sing. 

"I'se  gwine  tell  you  ob  de  comin'  ob  de  Saviour! 

Far'  you  well!  Far'  you  well! 
Dar's  er  better  day  er  comin', 

Far'  you  well!  Far'  you  well! 
When  my  Lord  speaks  ter  his  Father, 

Far 'you  well!  Far' you  well! 
Says,  'Father,  I'm  tired  of  bearin',' 

Far'  you  well!  Far'  you  well! 
'Tired  of  bearin'  fer  pore  sinners/ 

Far'  you  well!  Far'  you  well!  — " 

The  Louisiana  shore  came  softly  nearer.  It  was  a  jewelled  and 
spangled  April  shore,  that  sent  out  sweet  breath  from  flowers  with 
out  number.  Viewed  at  a  little  distance  it  seemed  a  magic  green 
curtain,  rarely  embroidered;  but  when  it  came  nearer  its  beauty  was 
seen  to  be  shot  with  the  sinister,  the  ghostly,  even,  vaguely,  with  the 


THE  RIVER  59 

terrible.  Hereabouts  rose  a  great  forest  through  which  deep  bayous 
crept  to  join  the  river,  into  which,  too,  the  river  ran  an  inlet  or  so  like 
a  Titan's  finger.  The  boat  with  the  two  negroes  and  the  soldier 
turned  its  head  downstream,  following  the  loops  of  the  river  and  the 
scalloped  shore.  To-day,  indeed,  there  seemed  no  proper  shore.  The 
shore  had  turned  amphibian.  White  cypress,  red  cypress,  magnolia, 
live-oak,  in  and  out  between  them  sucked  the  dark  water.  Vines 
and  the  wild  festoons  of  the  grey  moss  mirrored  themselves  within 
it;  herons  kept  watch  by  rotting  logs  over  dusk  pools  swept  by  the 
yellow  jessamine;  the  water  moccasin  slipped  beneath  perfumed 
thickets,  under  a  slow,  tinted  rain  of  petals.  At  intervals  there 
opened  vast  vistas,  an  endless  and  mournful  world  of  tall  cypress 
trunks  propping  a  roof  that  was  jealous  of  the  sun.  In  the  river  itself 
were  islets,  magically  fair,  Titania  bowers,  a  loveliness  of  unfolding 
leaf,  delicate  and  dreamlike  enough  to  make  the  tears  spring.  It  was 
past  the  middle  of  the  day;  heat  and  golden  haze  in  the  sun,  coolness 
and  cathedral  gloom  where  the  enormous  woodland  threw  its  shadow. 

Now  the  negroes  were  silent  and  now  they  were  talkative,  passing 
abruptly  from  one  mood  to  the  other.  Everything  in  their  range  of 
speech  was  dwelt  upon  with  an  equal  volubility,  interest,  and  em 
phasis.  A  ruined  eagle's  nest,  a  plunging  fish-hawk,  the  slow-sailing 
buzzards,  difficulties  with  the  current,  the  last  duel  between  gun 
boats,  the  latest  dash  of  a  Confederate  ram,  the  breaking  levees,  a 
protuberance  on  a  bar  of  black  slime  and  mud  which,  on  the  whole, 
they  held  to  be  a  log,  until  with  a  sudden  dull  gleaming  it  slid  into 
the  water  and  proved  to  be  a  turtle  —  all  things  received  an  equal 
dole  of  laughter  with  flashing  teeth,  of  amiable,  vivid,  childlike 
discussion.  Sometimes  they  appealed  to  the  white  man,  and  he, 
friendly  minded,  at  home  with  them,  gave  in  a  word  the  informa 
tion  or  settled  with  two  the  dispute.  "  That 's  so !  that 's  so ! "  each 
agreed.  "I  done  see  hit  that-er-way,  too!  That's  right,  sir!  Quar 
relling  is  powerful  foolish  —  jes'  as  foolish  as  gittin'  drunk!" 

Any  swiftness  of  work  was,  in  these  parts,  for  the  river  alone.  The 
boat  moved  slowly  enough,  here  caught  by  an  eddy,  here  travelling 
among  snags  and  bars,  doubling  with  the  river,  following  the  wave 
line  of  the  water-logged  shore.  The  sun's  rays  began  to  fall  slant 
ingly.  Through  the  illimitable  forest,  down  between  the  cypress 
trunks,  came  flights  of  golden  arrows. 


60  CEASE  FIRING 

"  We  are  not  far  from  Cape  Jessamine  ?  " 

"No,  marster.  Not  very  far." 

Silence  fell  again.  They  turned  a  horn  of  land,  all  delicate,  flower 
ing  shrubs,  and  ran  beneath  a  towering,  verdurous  bank  that  rained 
down  odours.  It  laid,  too,  upon  the  river,  a  dark,  far-reaching 
shadow. 

The  younger  negro  spoke  with  suddenness.  "I  belongs  to  Cape 
Jessamine." 

Edward  turned.  "  Do  you  ?  —  Why  were  you  up  the  river  and 
on  the  other  side  ?" 

"Hit  ain't  safe  any  mo'  at  Cape  Jessamine.  But  I  ain't  no  runa 
way,  sah.  Miss  Desiree  done  toP  us  to  go."  He  felt  in  his  shirt,  took 
out  a  piece  of  bandanna,  and  unwrapped  from  it  a  piece  of  paper 
which  he  held  out  to  Edward.  "Bar's  my  pass,  all  right,  sah!  She 
done  tol'  us  to  go,  an'  she  say  she  don'  know  that  she'll  ever  call  us 
back.  She  say  she  mighty  fond  of  us,  too,  but  all  things  er-comin' 
down  an'  er-changin'  an'  er-changin'!  Hit  ain't  never  any  more 
gwine  be  lak  hit  was." 

"How  many  have  gone  ?" 

"Mos'  everybody,  sah.  Yankees  come  an'  tek  de  cattle  an*  de 
meal,  an'  dar  wa'n't  much  to  eat.  An'  ef  er  man  or  er  yaller  gal  step 
in  er  rain  puddle  dey  wuz  took  with  er  shakm'-fit,  cryin'  out  dat 
de  river  was  er-comin'!  She  say  we  better  go.  De  Fusilier  place  — 
way  back  an'  crosst  the  bayou  where  de  river  could  n't  never  git  — 
she  done  sont  de  women  an'  chillen  dar,  an'  Madam  Fusilier  she  say 
she  tek  care  ob  dem  des  ez  long  ez  dar 's  anything  in  de  smokehouse 
an'  de  meal  ain'  stolen  — " 

"The  overseer  —  did  he  get  well  ?" 

"No,  sah.  He  hurt  he  hip,  an'  ole  Brer  Fever  come  er-long  an'  he 
died." 

"Then  who  is  at  Cape  Jessamine  with  —  ?" 

"Dar's  her  mammy,  sah,  who  would  n't  go.  An'  'Rasmus  an* 
Mingo  an'  Simon.  .  .  .  Plantation  beg  Miss  Desiree  to  come  away, 
too,  but  she  say  'No,'  we  go,  but  she's  got  er  responsibility  —  an' 
she  doubt  ef  de  river  come  anyway.  Yes,  sah.  She  say  she  got  her 
post,  but  dat  hit 's  all  right  for  us  to  go,  de  meal  givin'  out  an'  all. 
An'  she  say  she  certain'y  is  fond  of  us,  every  one,  an'  she  come 
down  de  great  house  porch  steps  an'  shake  hands  all  round  — "  He 


THE   RIVER  61 

took  the  slip  of  paper  and  wrapped  it  carefully  in  the  bandanna. 
"When  de  war's  over  I'se  gwine  right  back." 

Edward  spoke  to  the  older  man.  "How  real  is  the  danger  ?" 

"Of  the  river  coverin'  Cape  Jessamine,  sah?  Well,  they've  cut  a 
powerful  heap  of  levees.  It's  lak  this."  He  rested  on  his  oars  and 
demonstrated  with  his  hands.  "Cape  Jessamine's  got  water  mos' 
all  around  it  anyhow.  It  comes  suckin'  in  back  here,  suckin'  and 
underminin'.  The  Mississippi 's  er  powerful,  big  sapper  an'  miner  — 
the  biggest  kind  of  er  one!  It  might  be  workin'  in  the  cellar  like  under 
Cape  Jessamine  this  very  minute.  And  then  ergain  it  might  not. 
Ain'  nobody  kin  really  tell.  Though  nowadays  it's  surely  lucky  to 
expect  the  worst.  Yes,  sah,  the  Mississippi's  er  bigger  sapper  an' 
miner  than  any  they  've  got  in  the  army!"  \ 

They  went  on,  by  the  dense  woodland,  beneath  the  low  sun.  A 
cypress  swamp  ran  back  for  miles.  In  this  hour  the  vast,  knotted 
knees,  dimly  seen,  innumerable,  covering  all  the  earth,  appeared  like 
sleeping  herds  of  an  ancient  monster.  The  wash  of  the  water  was 
like  the  breathing  of  such  a  host.  All  the  country  here  was  very  low, 
and  over  it  there  began  to  be  drawn  a  purple  veil.  It  was  as  still  as  a 
dream.  The  boat  passed  between  two  islets  covered  with  a  white 
flower,  and  came  into  sight  of  a  point  of  land. 

"Cape  Jessamine!"  said  the  young  negro. 

It  lay  painfully  fair,  an  emerald  breadth  with  groups  of  trees, 
seen  through  the  veil  like  a  fading  dream  which  the  mind  tries  to 
hold,  and  tries  in  vain,  it  is  so  fair!  There  was  magic  in  the  atmos 
phere;  to  look  down  the  river  was  to  look  upon  a  vision.  Edward 
looked,  bent  forward,  his  eyes  steady  and  wide. 

"Row  fast!"  he  said  in  his  friendly  voice.  "I  want  to  go  back 
now." 

They  rowed  fast,  by  monstrous  white  cypresses,  under  boughs 
hung  with  motionless  banners  of  moss,  by  fallen  trees,  decaying 
logs,  grotesquely  twisted  roots.  The  boat  kept  in  the  shadow,  but 
the  light  was  on  Cape  Jessamine.  Presently  they  could  see  the 
lofty  pillars  of  the  house,  half  veiled  in  foliage,  half  bare  to  the  sink 
ing  sun.  They  were  now  not  half  a  mile  away.  The  distance  less 
ened.  .  .  . 

They  were  skirting  a  muddy  shore,  rowing  amid  a  wild  disorder  of 
stumps  that  rose  clear  from  the  water,  of  dead  and  fallen  trees,  dead 


62  CEASE   FIRING 

and  far-flung  vines.  There  came  to  the  boat  a  slight  rising  and  fall 
ing  motion. 

"What's  dat  ?"  said  the  young  negro. 

His  fellow  turned  and  stared.  "Lak  er  swell  from  er  steamer, 
only  there  ain't  any  steamer  on  the  Mississippi  these  days  — " 

"O  my  Lawd,  what  dat  sound  ?" 

The  boat  rocked  violently.  "Oh,  Destruction,  not  there!"  cried 
Edward  Gary. 

Cape  Jessamine  went  down,  down.  They  saw  and  heard;  it  was 
before  their  eyes;  the  bending  pillars,  the  crashing  walls,  the  trees 
that  fell,  the  earth  that  vanished,  the  churned  and  horrible  water. 
.  .  .  They  saw  the  work  of  the  river,  the  sapper  who  worked  with  a 
million  hands.  .  .  .  Shrieking,  the  negroes  drove  the  boat  head  into 
the  muddy  shore,  leaped  up  and  caught  at  the  overhanging  boughs. 
Their  frail  craft  was  stayed,  resting  behind  a  breakwater  of  dead 
limbs.  "O  God-er-moughty!  O  God-er-moughty ! "  wailed  the 
young  negro. 

Edward  stood  like  marble.  It  had  been  there  celestially  fair  — 
his  port  and  haven  and  the  wealth  it  held.  It  was  gone  —  gone  like 
a  mirage.  The  red  sun  sank  and  left  the  wild  world  a  wide  waste.  . . . 
The  darkness,  which,  in  this  latitude,  followed  at  once,  was  unwel 
come  only  because  it  closed  the  door  on  search,  hopeless  and  im 
possible  as  would  search  have  been  in  that  cauldron  of  earth  and 
water.  The  inner  darkness  was  heavier  than  that  which  came  up 
from  the  east.  Through  it  all  the  long  night  throbbed  like  a  dark 
star,  now  despair,  now  hope  against  hope. 

They  fastened  the  boat  with  a  rope  to  a  great  projecting  piece  of 
Spanish  bayonet.  For  a  while,  despite  the  sheltered  spot  into  which 
they  had  driven,  it  rose  and  fell  as  though  it  were  at  sea,  but  this 
passed  with  the  passing  hours.  At  last  the  excited  negroes  fell  quiet, 
at  last  they  lay  asleep,  head  pillowed  on  arms.  As  best  he  might 
Gary  wore  out  the  darkness. 

It  was  not  yet  dawn  when  he  roused  the  negroes.  The  boat  lay 
quiet  now;  the  river  was  over  its  disturbance  of  the  evening  be 
fore.  Since  its  origin  deep  in  past  ages  the  river  had  pulled  down 
too  many  shores,  swallowed  too  many  strips  of  land  to  be  long  con 
cerned  over  its  latest  work.  Yellow  and  deep  and  terrible,  on  it 
ran,  remorseless  and  unremembering.  The  boat  on  the  edge  of  the 


THE   RIVER  63 

sWamp,  in  the  circle  of  projecting  root  and  snag,  lay  quiet.  Above 
and  around  it  hung  lifeless  from  the  boughs  the  grey  moss.  Bough 
and  moss,  there  was  made  a  vast  tracery  through  which  showed  the 
primrose  sky,  cold,  quiet,  infinitely  withdrawn.  Looking  down 
the  stream,  all  that  was  missed  was  Cape  Jessamine.  The  yellow 
water  rolled  over  that. 

"There  was  a  bayou  a  mile  or  two  back,"  said  Edward.  "The  one 
on  which  stood  'Rasmus's  house.  It  ran  north  and  south  and  the 
road  went  across  it.  Can  we  get  to  that  bayou  ?" 

"Yes,  sah.  Hit's  haid  am'  far  from  here.  But  we'd  have  to  leave 
de  boat." 

"It  is  fastened  and  hidden.  You  will  find  it  again." 

The  elder  negro  looked  doubtful.  "We's  poor  men,  marster. 
Ain't  anybody  to  look  after  us  now  — " 

"I  ain'  er-carin'  how  poor  I  is,"  broke  in  the  younger.  "I'se 
gwine.  Ef  dey  got  warnin'  dey  might  hab  took  to  de  bayou,  crosst 
hit,  an'  went  on  to  de  [Fusilier  place.  But  hit  don'  look  ter  me  lak 
de  river  give  any  warnin'. " 

"That's  what  we've  got  to  see,"  said  Edward.  He  touched  the 
shoulder  of  the  elder  black.  "You're  a  good  man,  like  Daniel  here! 
Leave  the  boat  and  come  on." 

In  the  deep  wood,  among  the  cypresses,  the  light  was  faint  enough. 
The  three  crept  over  the  purple  brown  hummocks,  the  roots  like 
stiffened  serpents.  Now  and  again  they  plunged  into  water  or  black 
mire.  Edward  moved  in  silence,  and  though  the  negroes  talked, 
their  voices  were  subdued  to  the  place.  It  was  slow,  slow  going, 
walking  among  traps.  An  hour  passed.  The  cypresses  fell  away  and 
cane  and  flowering  vines  topped  by  giant  magnolias  took  their  place. 

"Haid  of  bayou,"  said  Daniel. 

They  found  an  old  dugout  half  full  of  water,  bailed  it  out,  and 
began  to  pole  down  the  narrow,  winding  water,  that  ran  two  miles  in 
the  wood  behind  the  lost  Cape  Jessamine. 

"If  she  had  even  an  hour  — "  said  Edward. 

"Miss  Desiree des'  er-sa'nter  er-long,"  said  Daniel,  "but  what  she 
wan'  ter  do,  hit  gets  done  lak  er  bolt  ob  lightnin'  runnin'  down  de 
sky!  Dar'  ain'  any  tellin'.  Ef  she  saw  hit  er-comin'  she  sholy  mek 
'em  move — " 

On  either  hand  the  perfumed  walls  came  close.  Far  overhead  the 


64  CEASE   FIRING 

trees  mingled  their  leaves  and  through  the  lace  roof  the  early  light 
came  stilly  down.  The  water  was  clear  brown.  Each  turn  brought 
a  vista,  faintly  lit,  tapering  into  mist,  through  which  showed  like 
smoked  pearl  mere  shapes  of  trees.  They  went  on  and  on,  to  a  low 
and  liquid  sound.  A  white  crane  stood  to  watch  them,  ghostly  in 
its  place.  Isolation  brooded;  all  was  as  still  as  the  border  of  the 
world. 

Turning  with  the  turning  water  they  found  another  reach  with 
pearl  grey  trees.  A  boat  came  toward  them  out  of  the  mist,  a  dug 
out  like  their  own,  with  a  figure,  standing,  poling.  In  the  greyness 
and  the  distance  it  was  not  immediately  to  be  made  out;  then,  as 
the  boat  came  nearer,  they  saw  that  it  was  a  woman,  and  another 
minute  told  her  name. 

The  young  negro  broke  into  a  happy  babbling.  "Miss  Desiree 
ainj  gwine  let  de  river  drown  her!  —  no,  nurr  her  mammy,  nurr 
Mingo,  nurr  Simon,  nurr  'Rasmus !  She  got  mo'  sence  dan  de  river. 
'Ho!'  she  say,  'you  ol'  river!  You  can  tek  my  house,  but  you  can't 
tek  me!  I  des  walk  out  lak  de  terrapin  an'  leave  you  de  shell!'" 

She  came  out  of  the  mist  into  the  morning  light,  into  the  emerald 
and  gold.  She  rowed  bareheaded,  standing  straight,  slender,  and 
fine  as  Artemis.  The  elder  negro  dipped  the  oar  strongly,  the  dis 
tance  lessened  with  swiftness.  When  she  saw  Edward,  she  gave  the 
singing  cry  he  knew  as  though  he  had  known  it  always.  .  .  . 

'Rasmus's  cabin,  it  seemed,  had  been  rebuilt.  Here  were  mammy 
and  'Rasmus  himself  and  Mingo  and  Simon,  and  a  little  bag  of  meal 
and  a  little,  little  coffee.  Everybody  had  breakfast  while  the  birds 
sang  and  the  trees  waved,  and  the  honey  bees  were  busy  with  all  the 
flowers  of  the  Southern  spring.  Later,  there  was  held  a  council  be 
tween  General  Gary  and  General  Gaillard,  sitting  gravely  opposite 
each  other,  he  on  a  cypress  stump  and  she  on  a  fallen  pine.  The 
Fusilier  place  ?  Yes,  the  servants  had  best  go  there.  Mammy,  at 
any  rate,  must  go.  She  was  old  and  feeble,  a  little  childish  —  and 
Madam  Fusilier  was  a  true  saint  who  gave  herself  to  the  servants. 
Five  miles  down  the  road  lived  an  old  man  who  had  a  mule  and  a 
cart.  Desiree  had  an  idea  that  they  had  not  been  taken.  The  Fusilier 
place  was  fourteen  miles  away.  They  might  get  mammy  there  before 
night. 

"And  you?" 


THE   RIVER  65 

"I  will  take  her  there,  of  course." 

"Madam  Fusilier  will  insist  upon  caring  for  you,  too." 

"Undoubtedly.  But  I  do  not  wish  to  stay  at  the  Fusilier  place. 
It  is  in  the  back  country.  News  never  comes  there.  You  could  not 
hear  even  the  firing  on  the  river.  It  is  a  cloister,  and  she  is  old  and 
always  on  her  knees.  I  would  beat  against  the  cage  until  I  died  or 
beat  it  down." 

"Desiree,  would  you  come  with  me?  We  could  marry  at  Natchez, 
and  the  women  are  not  leaving  Vicksburg.  .  .  .  Oh,  I  cannot  tell  if 
I  am  giving  you  good  counsel!" 

"It  is  a  counsel  of  happiness." 

"And  of  danger—  " 

"I  will  take  the  danger.  .  .  .  Oh,  that  is  so  much  better  than  the 
Fusilier  place!" 

Two  days  later  they  left  the  friendly  boatmen  on  the  Mississippi 
side.  An  old  family  carriage  which  they  overtook,  creeping  along  the 
spring-time  road,  in  it  a  lady,  her  little  girl,  and  a  maid,  gave  them  a 
long  lift  upon  the  way.  At  the  last  they  came  into  Natchez  in  an 
ambulance  sent  up  from  Port  Hudson,  in  friendly  company  with  a 
soldier  with  a  bandaged  leg  and  a  soldier  with  a  bandaged  head  and 
arm.  In  Natchez  they  were  married. 

Three  days  passed  and  they  entered  Vicksburg.  His  furlough 
would  expire  the  next  morning.  She  knew  people  in  this  town,  old 
friends  of  her  mother's,  she  said.  She  and  Edward  found  the  house 
and  all  was  well.  Her  mother's  friends  kissed  her,  laughed  and  cried 
and  kissed  her  again,  and  then  they  shook  hands  warmly  with  her 
husband,  and  then  they  gave  the  two  a  cool  high  room  behind  a 
cascade  of  roses,  and  sent  them  cake  and  sangaree. 

As  the  evening  fell,  they  sat  together  by  the  window,  in  the  fair 
stillness,  and  relief  of  a  place  all  their  own. 

"The  town  is  full  of  rumours,"  he  said.  "There  is  news  of  a  bom 
bardment  of  Charleston,  and  we  have  had  a  success  in  Tennessee, 
a  great  raid  of  Forrest's.  Longstreet  is  being  attacked  south  of  the 
James.  The  armies  on  the  Rappahannock  appear  to  be  making 
ready—" 

"And  here?" 

"There  is  a  feeling  that  we  are  on  the  eve  of  events.  Grant  is 
starting  some  movement,  but  what  it  is  has  not  yet  developed. 


66  CEASE  FIRING 

There  will  be  fighting  presently  — "  He  put  out  his  hand  and  drew 
within  the  room  a  bough  of  the  Seven  Sisters  rose.  "Look,  how  they 
are  shaded!  Pale  pink,  rose,  crimson." 

He  had  letters  from  home  which  he  presently  took  up  from  the 
table,  opened,  and  read  aloud.  They  were  sprinkled  with  gracious 
references  to  his  happiness  and  messages  of  love  for  Desiree  at  Cape 
Jessamine. 

"Oh,  Cape  Jessamine  —  oh,  Cape  Jessamine!" 

"This  is  from  Molly.  'Will  you  be  able  to  see  her  before  the  war 
is  over  ?  They  say  it  will  be  over  this  summer. ' " 

"Molly  is  the  little  one?  And  I  am  here!  We  see  each  other, 
though  the  war  is  not  over.  Oh,  there  is  no  cup  that  has  not  the  pearl 
dropped  in — " 

"If  you  think  this  rose  light  comes  only  from  the  roses  — " 

The  dusk  deepened  to  night,  the  night  of  the  sixteenth  of  April, 
1863.  A  perfumed  wind  blew  through  the  town,  the  stars  shone,  the 
place  lay  deep  in  sleep,  only  the  sentries  walking  their  beat.  From 
river  battery  to  river  battery,  patrolling  the  Mississippi,  went 
pickets  in  rowboats.  They  dipped  their  oars  softly,  looking  up  and 
down  and  across  the  stream.  Toward  the  middle  of  the  night  they 
drew  together  in  a  cluster,  and  now  they  looked  upstream.  Then 
they  separated  and  went  in  different  directions,  rowing  no  longer 
with  slow  strokes,  but  with  all  their  strength  of  arm.  The  most 
made  for  the  nearest  shore  battery,  but  others  shot  across  to  the 
small  settlement  of  De  Soto  on  the  Louisiana  bank.  That  which  they 
did  here  was  to  fire  a  number  of  frame  buildings  near  the  water's 
edge.  Up  soared  the  red  pillars,  illuminating  the  river.  Across  the 
water  a  signal  shot  boomed  from  the  upper  batteries.  Up  and 
down  the  bugles  were  heard.  Lights  sprung  out,  the  wind  filled 
with  sound.  Down  the  Mississippi,  into  the  glare  thrown  by  the 
burning  houses  came  at  full  speed  Porter's  ironclads,  meaning  this 
time  to  get  by.  The  Benton,  Lafayette,  and  Tuscumbia,  the  gun 
boats  Carondelet,  Pittsburg,  Louisville,  Mound  City,  the  ram  Gen 
eral  Price,  the  transports  Forest  Queen  and  Silver  Wave  and  Henry 
Clay  —  one  by  one  they  showed  in  the  night  that  was  now  red. 
The  transports  were  protected  by  bulwarks  of  cotton  bales,  by  coal 
barges  lashed  to  their  sides.  From  the  smokestacks  of  all  rushed 
black  clouds  with  sparks  of  fire.  Go  ahead  I  Go  ahead  / 


THE  RIVER  67 

Vicksburg,  that  was  to  dispute  the  ownership  of  the  Mississippi, 
had  with  which  to  do  it  twenty-eight  guns.  She  was  hardly  a 
Gibraltar  —  Vicksburg;  hardly  ironclad  and  invulnerable,  hardly 
fitted  with  ordnance  sufficient  for  her  purpose.  The  twenty-eight 
guns  upon  the  bluffs  above  the  river  might  be  greatly  served,  they 
might  work  tirelessly  and  overtime,  but  it  remained  that  they  were 
but  twenty-eight.  Now  in  the  midnight  of  the  sixteenth  of  April, 
they  opened  mouth.  At  once  the  blue  ironclads  answered. 

The  excited  town  came  out  of  doors.  On  the  whole  it  was  better 
to  see  the  shells  than  to  hear  them  where  you  sat  in  dark  rooms.  The 
women  had  a  horror  of  being  caught  within  falling  walls,  beneath  a 
roof  that  was  on  fire;  they,  too,  preferred  to  meet  death  and  terror  in 
the  open.  Not  that  they  believed  that  death  was  coming  to  many 
to-night,  or  that  they  could  have  been  called  terrified.  Vicksburg 
was  growing  used  to  bombardments.  The  women  gathered  the 
children  and  came  out  into  the  streets  and  gardens.  There  had  been 
that  evening  a  party  and  a  dance.  The  signal  gun  boomed  hard 
upon  its  close;  young  girls  and  matrons  had  reached  home,  but  had 
not  yet  undressed.  They  came  out  of  doors  again  in  their  filmy  ball 
gowns,  with  flowers  in  their  hair.  As  the  guns  opened  mouth,  as 
the  blue  shells  rose  into  the  night,  each  a  swift,  brilliant  horror,  the 
caves  were  suggested,  but  the  women  of  Vicksburg  did  not  like  the 
caves  and  only  meant  to  use  them  when  the  rain  was  furious.  Not 
all  came  out  of  doors.  The  young  wife  of  a  major-general  was  afraid 
of  the  night  air  for  her  baby,  and  stayed  quietly  by  its  cradle,  and 
others  kept  by  the  bedridden.  Vicksburg,  no  more  than  any  other 
Southern  town,  lacked  its  sick  and  wounded. 

The  signal  shot  had  awakened  Desiree  and  Edward.  Before  he 
was  dressed  there  came  the  sound  of  the  beaten  drum  in  the  streets 
below. 

"  The  long  roll ! "  he  said.  "  I  must  hurry.  The  regiment  is  camped 
by  the  river." 

He  bent  over  her,  took  her  in  his  arms.  " Good-bye,  love!  good 
bye,  love!" 

"Good-bye,  love;  good-bye,  good-bye!" 

He  was  gone.  With  a  sob  in  her  throat  she  fell  back,  lay  for  a 
moment  outstretched  on  the  bed,  face  down,  her  hands  locked  above 
Jher  head.  The  house  shook,  a  light  came  in  the  window,  there  were 


68  CEASE   FIRING 

hurried  voices  through  the  house  and  in  the  garden  below.  She  rose 
and  dressed,  braiding  her  long  hair  with  flying  fingers,  her  eyes 
upon  the  red  light  in  the  sky.  When  she  had  done  she  looked  around 
her  once,  then  went  out,  closing  the  door  behind  her,  and  ran  down 
into  the  garden. 


CHAPTER  VII 

PORT   GIBSON 

THE  twenty-eight  guns  sent  out  continuously  shot  and  shell 
against  the  blue  ironclads,  the  gunboats,  the  transports. 
The  blue  returned  the  fire  with  fervency.  Not  before  had 
the  shores  rocked  to  such  sound,  the  heavens  been  filled  with  such  a 
display.  The  firing  was  furious,  the  long  shriek  and  explosion  of 
crossing  shells,  bluff  and  river  screaming  like  demons.  All  the  sky 
was  lit.  The  massed  smoke  hung  huge  and  copper  red,  while  high 
and  low  sprang  the  intense  brightness  of  the  exploding  bomb.  The 
grey  guns  set  on  fire  several  transports.  These  burned  fiercely,  the 
coal  barges,  the  cotton  bales  that  made  their  shields  betraying  them 
now,  burning  high  and  burning  hard.  The  village  of  De  Soto  was 
aflame.  The  Mississippi  River  showed  as  light  as  day,  a  strange  red 
daylight,  stuffed  with  infernal  sound.  Through  it  steadily,  steadily, 
the  blue  fleet  pushed  down  the  river,  running  the  gauntlet  of  the 
batteries.  All  the  boats  were  struck,  most  were  injured.  A  transport 
was  burning  to  the  water's  edge,  coal  barges  were  scattered  and 
sunk.  Firing  as  it  went,  each  ironclad  a  moving  broadside,  the  fleet 
kept  its  way.  The  twenty-eight  did  mightily,  the  gunners,  powder- 
grimed  automata,  the  servers  of  ammunition,  the  officers,  the 
sharpshooters  along  the  shore  —  all  strove  with  desperation.  Up 
and  down  and  across,  the  night  roared  and  flamed  like  a  Vulcan  fur 
nace.  The  town  shook,  and  the  bluffs  of  the  river;  the  Mississippi 
might  have  borne  to  the  sea  a  memory  of  thunders.  Less  a  sunken 
transport,  less  one  burning  low,  less  scattered  and  lost  small  craft, 
the  fleet  —  scarred  and  injured  though  it  was  —  the  fleet  passed !  It 
ran  the  gauntlet,  and  at  dawn  there  was  a  reason  the  less  for  holding 
Vicksburg. 

Two  nights  later  other  ironclads  got  by.  Grant  had  now  a  fleet  at 
New  Carthage,  on  the  Louisiana  shore,  halfway  between  Vicksburg 
and  Grand  Gulf.  He  proceeded  to  use  it  and  the  transports  that  had 
passed.  The  sky  over  the  grey  darkened  rapidly;  there  came  a  feel- 


7o  CEASE   FIRING 

ing  of  oppression,  of  sultry  waiting,  of  a  storm  gathering  afar,  but 
moving.  Sherman  again  threatened  to  approach  by  the  Yazoo,  but 
that  was  not  felt  to  be  the  head  of  the  storm.  From  La  Grange,  in 
Tennessee,  southward,  Grierson  was  ruining  railroads  and  burning 
depots  of  supplies,  but  that  was  but  a  raid  to  be  avenged  by  a  raid. 
In  the  cloud  down  the  river  was  forging  the  true  lightning,  the  breath 
of  destruction  and  the  iron  hail.  Vicksburg  held  its  breath  and 
looked  sideways  at  small  noises,  then  recovered  itself,  smiled,  and 
talked  of  sieges  in  history  successfully  stood  by  small  towns.  On  the 
twenty-ninth,  Porter's  squadron  opened  fire  on  the  Confederate 
batteries  at  Grand  Gulf,  and  that  night,  under  a  fierce  bombard 
ment,  ironclads,  gunboats,  and  transports  ran  this  defence  also  of 
the  Mississippi.  At  dawn  there  was  another  reason  the  less  for 
confining  few  troops  in  small  places. 

On  the  thirtieth  of  April,  Grant  began  to  ferry  his  army  across 
from  the  Louisiana  shore.  Brigade  by  brigade,  he  landed  it  at 
Bruinsburg,  nine  miles  below  Grand  Gulf,  sixty  below  Vicksburg. 
At  Grand  Gulf  was  Bowen  with  five  thousand  grey  soldiers  with 
which  to  delay  Grant's  northward  march.  Between  Bruinsburg 
and  Grand  Gulf  ran  Bayou  Pierre,  wide  and  at  this  season  much 
swollen,  but  with  an  available  bridge  at  Port  Gibson.  Bowen's 
three  brigades  took  the  road  to  the  last-named  place,  and  Bowen 
telegraphed  to  Pemberton  at  Vicksburg  for  reinforcements.  Pem- 
berton  sent  Tracy's  Alabama  brigade  of  Stevenson's  division,  and 
with  it  Anderson's  Battery,  Botetourt  Artillery.  The  th  Vir 
ginia,  figuring  in  this  story,  marched  also. 

They  broke  camp  at  dusk.  "Night  march!  "quoth th  Virginia. 

" Double  time!  Old  Jack  must  have  come  down  from  Virginia!" 

The  colonel  heard.  "Old  Jack  and  Marse  Robert  are  looking  after 
Fighting  Joe  Hooker  to-day.  I  saw  the  telegram.  They're  moving 
toward  the  Wilderness." 

"Well,  we  wish  we  were,  too,"  said  the  men.  "Though  the  Miss 
issippi  is  mighty  important,  we  know!" 

There  existed  a  road,  of  course,  only  it  had  not  been  in  condition 
for  a  year.  No  roads  were  kept  up  nowadays,  though  occasionally 
some  engineer  corps  momentarily  bettered  matters  in  some  selected 
place  in  order  that  troops  might  pass.  Troops  had  gone  up  and 
down  this  road,  and  the  feet  of  men  and  horses,  the  wheels  of  wagons 


PORT   GIBSON  71 

and  gun-carriages  had  added  force  to  neglect,  making  the  road  very 
bad,  indeed.  It  was  narrow  and  bad,  even  for  Southern  roads  in 
wartime.  To  the  aid  of  neglect  and  the  usage  of  hoof  and  wheel  had 
come  the  obliterating  rains.  Bayous,  too,  had  no  hesitation  in  fling 
ing  an  arm  across.  It  was  a  season  when  firm  ground  changed  into 
marsh  and  marsh  into  lake  and  ordinary  fords  grew  too  deep  for 
fording.  Miles  of  the  miserable  road  ran  through  forest  —  no  open, 
park-like  wood  whereon  one  might  travel  on  turf  at  the  sides  of  the 
way,  but  a  far  Southern  forest,  impenetrable,  violent,  resenting  the 
road,  giving  it  not  an  inch  on  either  hand,  making  raids  and  forays 
of  its  own.  Where  it  could  it  flung  poisoned  creepers,  shot  out  arms 
in  thorn-mail,  laid  its  own  dead  across  that  narrow  track.  It  could 
also  blot  out  the  light,  keep  off  the  air. 

At  midnight  the  Big  Black  River  was  reached.  Oh,  the  reinforce 
ments  for  Bowen  were  tired  and  worn!  The  night  was  inky,  damp, 

and  hot.  The th  Virginia,  closing  Tracy's  column,  must  wait 

and  wait  for  its  turn  at  the  crossing.  There  was  a  long,  old-type 
ferryboat,  and  many  men  and  horses  swam  the  stream,  but  it  took 
time,  time  to  get  the  whole  brigade  across!  Broken  and  decaying 
wood  was  gathered  and  a  tall  fire  made.  Burning  at  the  water's 
edge,  it  murkily  crimsoned  landing  and  stream,  the  crowded  boat 
slow  passing  from  shore  to  shore,  and  the  swimming,  mounted  men. 
Above  it,  on  the  north  side,  the  waiting  regiments  threw  themselves 
down  on  the  steaming  earth,  in  the  rank  and  wild  growth.  The 

• th  Virginia,  far  back  on  the  road,  had  a  fire  of  its  own.  Behind 

it  yet  were  the  guns  accompanying  Tracy. 

As  the  fire  flamed  up  Artillery  drew  near,  drawn  by  the  genial 
glow.  "  May  we  ?  Thank  you !  If  you  fellows  are  as  wet  as  we  are, 
you  are  wet,  indeed.  That  last  bayou  was  a  holy  terror!" 

"  In  our  opinion  this  entire  night 's  a  holy  terror.  Have  n't  we  met 
you  before?  Are  n't  you  the  Botetourt  Artillery?" 

"Yes.  We've  met  a  lot  of  people  in  this  war,  some  that  we  liked 
and  some  that  we  did  n't!  You  look  right  likable.  Where  — 

"Going  out  to  Chickasaw  Bayou.  Pitch  black  night  like  this, 
only  it  was  raining  and  cold.  Your  mules  could  n't  pull  — 

"Oh,  now  we  remember!"  said  Artillery.    "You're  the th 

Virginia  that  helped  us  all  it  could!  Glad  to  meet  you  again.  Glad 
to  meet  anything  Virginian." 


72  CEASE  FIRING 

"You've  been  out  of  Virginia  a  long  time?" 

"  Out  of  it  a  weary  year.  Tennessee,  Cumberland  Gap,  Kentucky, 
and  so  forth.  We  sing  'most  everything  in  this  army,  but  the  Bote- 
tourt  Artillery  can't  sing  'Carry  me  back  to  Old  Virginny'!  It 
chokes  up.  —  What's  your  county?" 

Company  by  company,  regiment  by  regiment,  Tracy's  brigade 
got  over  the  Big  Black.  Foot  by  foot  the  troops  in  the  rear  came 
nearer  the  stream;  minute  by  minute  the  dragging  night  went  by. 
Half  seated,  half  lying  on  the  fallen  trunk  of  a  gum,  Edward  Gary 
watched  the  snail-like  crossing.  When  one  dead  tree  burned  down, 
they  fired  another.  There  was  light  enough,  a  red  pulsing  in  the 
darkness  through  which  the  troops  moved  down  the  sloping  bank 
to  the  ferryboat.  The  bank  was  all  scored  and  trampled,  and  crested 
by  palmetto  scrub  and  tall  trees  draped  with  vines.  The  men  stum 
bled  as  they  went,  they  were  so  stiff  with  fatigue.  Their  feet  were 
sore  and  torn.  There  was  delay  enough.  Each  man  as  he  passed 
out  of  the  shadow  down  to  the  boat  had  his  moment  of  red  light,  a 
transitory  centre  of  the  stage. 

Gary  watched  them  broodingly,  his  elbow  on  the  log,  his  hand 
covering  his  mouth.  "A  bronze  frieze  of  the  Destined.  Leaves  of 
the  life  tree  and  a  high  wind  and  frost  at  hand."  An  old  man  stood 
his  moment  in  the  light,  the  hollows  in  his  cheeks  plain,  plain  the 
thin  and  whitened  hair  beneath  a  torn  boy's  cap.  He  passed.  The 
barrel  of  his  musket  gleamed  for  an  instant,  then  sank  like  a  star 
below  the  verge.  A  young  man  took  his  place,  gaunt,  with  deep 
circles  about  his  eyes.  The  hand  on  the  musket  stock  was  long  and 
thin  and  white.  "Fever,"  thought  Edward.  "Disease,  that  walks 
with  War."  The  fever-stricken  passed,  and  another  took  his  place. 
This  was  a  boy,  certainly  not  more  than  fifteen,  and  his  eyes  were 
dancing.  He  had  had  something  to  eat,  Edward  thought,  perhaps 
even  a  mouthful  of  whiskey,  he  carried  himself  with  such  an  impish 
glee.  "Is  it  such  fun?  Iwonder  —  I  wonder!  You  represent,  I  think, 
the  past  of  the  human  species.  Step  aside,  honourable  young  sav 
age,  and  let  the  mind  of  the  world  grow  beyond  fifteen!" 

On  and  down  went  the  column,  young,  old,  and  in  between. 
Two  years  earlier  a  good  observer,  watching  it,  would  have  been 
able  fairly  to  ascribe  to  each  unit  his  place  in  life  before  the 
drum  beat.  "A  farmer  —  another — a  great  landowner,  a  planter 


PORT   GIBSON  73 

—  surely  a  blacksmith  —  a  clerk  —  a  town-bred  man,  perhaps 
a  banker  —  another  farmer  —  a  professional  man  —  a  student  — 
Dick  from  the  plough  — "  and  so  on.  Now  it  was  different.  You 
could  have  divided  the  columns,  perhaps,  into  educated  men  and 
uneducated  men,  rough  men  and  refined  men,  as  you  could  have 
divided  it  into  young  men  and  old  men,  tall  men  and  men  not  so  tall. 
But  the  old  stamp  had  greatly  worn  away,  and  the  new  had  had  two 
years  in  which  to  bite  deep.  It  was  a  column  of  Confederate  soldiers, 
poorly  clad  and  shod,  and,  to-night,  hungry  and  very  tired.  Soldier 
by  soldier,  squad,  company,  regiment,  on  they  stumbled  through 
prickly  and  matted  growth  down  to  the  water  of  the  Big  Black  and 
the  one  boat.  The  night  wore  on.  One  and  two  and  three  o'clock 

went  by  before  the  last  of  the th  Virginia  was  over.   Edward, 

standing  in  the  end  of  the  boat,  marked  the  Botetourt  Artillery  move 
forward  and  down  to  the  stream.  There  was  a  moment  when  the 
guns  were  drawn  sharply  against  the  pallor  of  the  morning  sky. 
There  came  into  his  mind  an  awakening  at  dawn  on  the  battle-field 
of  Frayser's  Farm,  and  the  pale  pink  heaven  behind  the  guns.  But, 
indeed,  he  had  seen  them  often,  drawn  against  the  sky  at  daybreak. 
There  was  growing  in  this  war,  as  in  all  wars,  a  sense  of  endless  re 
petition.  The  gamut  was  not  extensive,  the  spectrum  held  but  few 
colours.  Over  and  over  and  over  again  sounded  the  notes,  old  as  the 
ages,  monotonous  as  the  desert  wind.  War  was  still  war,  and  all 
music  was  military.  Edward  and  his  comrades  touched  the  southern 
shore  of  the  Big  Black,  and  the  boat  went  back  for  the  Botetourt 
Artillery. 

The  reinforcements  for  Bowen  made  no  stop  for  breakfast  for  men 
or  for  horses,  but  pushed  on  toward  Grand  Gulf.  The  day  was 
warm,  the  forest  heavily  scented,  the  air  languid.  All  the  bourgeon 
ing  and  blossoming,  the  running  sap,  the  upward  and  outward  flow, 
was  only  for  the  world  of  root  and  stem,  leaf  and  bud.  The  very 
riot  and  life  therein  seemed  to  draw  and  drain  the  strength  from  the 
veins  of  men.  It  was  as  though  there  were  not  life  enough  for  both 
worlds,  and  the  vegetable  world  was  forcing  itself  uppermost.  All  day 
Tracy's  column  moved  forward  in  a  forced  march.  The  men  went 
hungry  and  without  sleep ;  all  day  they  broke  with  a  dull  impatience 
thorn  and  briar  and  impeding  cane,  or  forded  waist-deep  and  muddy 
bayous,  or  sought  in  swamps  for  the  lost  road.  They  were  now  in  a 


74  CEASE  FIRING 

region  of  ridge  and  ravine,  waves  of  land  and  the  trough  between, 
and  all  covered  with  a  difficult  scrub  and  a  maze  of  vines. 

A  courier  from  Grand  Gulf  met  the  head  of  the  column.  "  General 
Bowen  says,  sir,  you'll  have  to  cross  Bayou  Pierre  at  Port  Gibson. 
The  bridge  is  there.  Yes,  sir,  make  a  detour  —  yonder 's  the  road." 

"That  turkey  track?" 

"Yes,  sir.  General  Bowen  says  he  surely  will  be  obliged  if  you'll 
come  right  on." 

Sundown  and  Bayou  Pierre  were  reached  together.  At  the  mouth 
of  the  bridge  at  Port  Gibson  waited  an  aide  on  horseback. 

"General  Tracy?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"General,  we're  in  line  of  battle  across  the  Bruinsburg  road, 
several  miles  from  here!  McClernand's  corps  is  in  front  of  us  and 
he's  got  at  least  four  divisions.  General  Bowen  says  he  knows  your 
men  are  tired  and  he 's  sorry,  but  you  must  move  right  out.  They  '11 
attack  at  dawn  at  latest.  We  are  n't  but  five  thousand." 

The  reinforcements  from  Vicksburg  moved  out.  At  ten  o'clock 
they  got  into  line  of  battle  —  a  hot,  still,  dark  night,  and  the  soft 
blurred  stars  swimming  before  the  men's  eyes.  When  the  order  was 
given,  the  troops  dropped  down  where  they  stood,  lay  on  their  arms, 
and  slept  like  the  dead. 

At  two  in  the  morning  of  the  first  of  May  the  pickets  began  firing. 
Up  rose  the  reinforcements.  They  looked  for  breakfast,  but  break 
fast  was  scant  indeed,  a  stopgap  of  the  slightest  description.  Pre 
sently  came  the  order,  "Move  to  the  left  and  support  General 
Green." 

Missouri  formed  Bowen's  left,  and  Missouri  fought  bravely  at 
Port  Gibson.  It  had  to  face  treble  its  numbers,  artillery  and  infan 
try.  It  faced  them  so  stubbornly  that  for  a  time  it  bade  fair  to 
outface  them.  On  that  hot  May  day,  on  that  steaming  Southern 
battle-field,  occurred  strong  fighting,  grey  and  blue  at  grips,  Victory 
shouting  now  here,  now  there,  Defeat  uncertain  yet  into  which 
colour  finally  to  let  fly  the  deadly  arrow.  The  battle  smoke  settled 
heavily.  The  bright  colours,  the  singing-birds  fled  the  trees  and 
bushes,  the  perfume  of  flowers  was  smothered  and  vanished. 

Artillery  on  both  sides  became  heavily  engaged.  The th  Vir 
ginia,  during  one  of  those  sudden  and  mysterious  lulls  coming  sud- 


PORT  GIBSON  75 

denly  in  battle  as  in  other  commotions  of  the  elements,  found  itself, 
after  hard  fighting,  with  nothing  to  do  but  to  watch  that  corner  of 
the  fight  immediately  before  it.  The  corner  was  but  a  small,  smoke- 
shrouded  one.  Only  general  officers,  aides,  and  couriers  ever  really 

saw  a  battle-field.  The th  Virginia  gazed  with  feverish  interest 

on  what  it  could  see  and  guessed  that  which  it  could  not.  It  could 
guess  well  enough  that  for  the  grey  the  struggle  was  growing  des 
perate. 

All  this  field  was  up  and  down,  low  ridge  and  shallow  ravine.  The 

th  Virginia  held  a  ridge.  Over  against  it  was  a  blue  battery,  and 

beyond  the  battery  there  might  be  divined  a  gathering  mass  of  in 
fantry.  The th  Virginia  looked  to  its  cartridge  boxes.  "  Wish  we 

had  some  guns!  There  won't  be  much  of  this  left  —  What's  that? 
Praise  the  Lord! "  At  a  gallop,  out  of  the  smoke  to  the  right,  came  a 
section  of  a  grey  battery,  the  guns  leaping  and  thundering.  Red- 
nostrilled,  with  blood-shot  eyes  up  strained  the  horses.  At  the  ridge- 
top,  with  an  iron  clang,  all  stopped.  At  once  the  gunners,  grey 
wraiths  in  grey  smoke,  were  busy;  busy  also  at  once  the  shapes 
upon  the  opposite  ridge,  blue  wraiths  in  grey  smoke.  There  was 
shouting,  gesturing,  then  the  flare  and  shriek  of  crossing  shells. 

The th  Virginia,  still  in  possession  of  its  spare  moment,  watched 

with  an  interest  intense  and  critical.  " Hello !"  it  said.  "That's  the 
homesick  battery!  That's  the  Botetourt  Artillery!" 

Out  of  the  haze  in  front,  above  the  opposing  crest,  came  a  glint  of 
bayonets,  the  blue  infantry,  coveting  the  grey  ridge,  moving  for 
ward  under  artillery  support.  The  th  Virginia  handled  its 

rifles.  Ready  —  take  aim  — fire!  The  blue  failed  to  acquire  the 

coveted  ridge.  The th  Virginia,  at  rest  once  again  in  its  corner 

of  the  field,  looked  sideways  to  see  what  the  homesick  battery  was 
doing.  There  was  a  silence;  then,  "  Give  them  a  cheer,  men ! "  said  the 
colonel.  "They're  dying  fast,  and  it  always  was  a  brave  county!" 

The  shells  from  the  many  blue  cannon  came  many  and  fast.  It 
was  necessary  to  clear  the  ridge  of  that  grey  section  which  stood  in 
the  way  of  a  general  advance.  The  gunners  fell,  the  gunners  fell, 
the  officers,  the  horses.  Dim  in  the  universal  cloud,  from  the  left,  a 
force  was  seen  approaching.  "Grey,  I  think,"  said  the  lieutenant 
commanding  this  section  of  the  Botetourt  Artillery.  "J.  J.  Smith, 
climb  up  on  the  roof  of  that  cabin,  and  sec  what  you  can  see!" 


76  CEASE   FIRING 

J.  J.  Smith  climbed.  "Lieutenant  Norgrove!  Lieutenant  Nor- 
grove!  they're  damn- Yankees — " 

Out  of  the  smoke  came  a  yellow  light  and  a  volley  of  lead.  Gunner 
Number  8,  J.  J.  Smith,  fell  from  the  roof  of  the  cabin,  desperately 
wounded.  " Double  canister!"  shouted  Norgrove. 

An  orderly  came  up  the  back  side  of  the  ridge.  The th  Vir 
ginia  was  needed  to  cover  a  break  in  the  line  to  the  right.  Off  per 
force  went  the  regiment,  with  one  backward  look  at  the  homesick 
battery,  left  without  infantry  support.  An  aide  dashed  up,  rose  in  his 
stirrups,  and  shouted,  "Move  your  guns  to  the  ridge  in  your  rear!" 
He  was  gone;  Botetourt  looked  and  shook  its  head.  The  horses  were 
all  killed.  "Put  your  hands  to  them,  men!"  ordered  Norgrove  — 
and  they  tried.  But  the  scrub  was  thick,  the  ground  rough ;  there 
burst  a  frightful  fire,  shell  and  musketry,  and  on  came  the  blue  wave 
hurrahing.  "All  right!  We  can't!"  shouted  Norgrove.  "Load! 
This  hill 's  Botetourt  County  —  Take  aim!  —  and  we  don't  propose 
to  emigrate!  Fire!" 

The  blue  guns  threw  death.  Deep,  many-atomed,  resistless,  up 
roared  the  blue  wave.  It  struck  and  went  over  Botetourt  County, 
and,  taking  the  two  guns,  turned  them  on  the  Botetourt  men.  There 
were  few  Botetourt  men  now,  Botetourt  was  become  again  the 
wilderness.  Norgrove  jerked  the  trail  from  a  gun,  a  man  in  blue 
calling  on  him  all  the  time  to  surrender.  He  made  at  the  man,  who 
lifted  his  rifle  and  fired.  Norgrove  fell,  mortally  wounded,  fell  by  the 
side  of  J.  J.  Smith.  He  put  his  arms  about  the  gunner,  "Come  on! 
Come  on! "  he  cried.  .  .  .  The  wave  swept  over  Botetourt  County, 
the  dead  and  the  dying. 

The th  Virginia,  fighting  strongly  in  another  quarter  of  the 

field,  came  in  mid-afternoon  to  a  stand  between  charges.  All  knew 
now  that  the  day  was  going  against  them.  The  smoke  hung  thick,  a 
dark  velvet  in  the  air,  torn  in  places  by  the  lightning  from  the  guns. 
Grey  and  blue  —  all  was  dimly  seen.  The  flags  looked  small  and  dis 
tant,  mere  riddled  and  blood-stained  rags.  The  voice  of  War  was 
deep  and  loud.  The th  Virginia,  looking  up  from  a  hollow  be 
tween  the  hills,  saw  two  grey  guns,  stolid  in  the  midst  of  wreck  and 
ruin.  The  plateau  around  had  a  nightmare  look,  it  was  so  weighted 
and  cumbered  with  destruction.  There  was  an  exploded  caisson,  a 
wreck  of  gun-carriages.  Not  a  horse  had  been  spared.  The  agony  of 


PORT   GIBSON  77 

them  was  ghastly,  sunk  in  the  scrub,  up  and  down  and  on  the  crest 
of  the  ridge.  ...  A  few  grey  gunners  yet  served  the  grey  guns. 

A  captain,  young,  with  a  strong  face  and  good  brown  eyes,  stood 
out,  higher  than  the  rest,  careless  of  the  keening  minies,  the  stream  of 
shells.  "A  habit  is  a  habit,  men !  This  battery's  got  a  habit  of  being 
steadfast!  Keep  it  up  —  keep  it  up!" 

"Captain  Johnston  —  Captain  Johnston!  They've  killed  Lieu 
tenant  Douthatt  —  " 

"  Lay  him  in  the  scrub  and  fight  on.  How  many  rounds,  Peters?— 
Two  ?  —  All  right!  You  can  do  a  good  deal  with  two  rounds  — " 

"It's  the  rest  of  the  homesick  battery,"  said  the th  Virginia, 

"  Botetourt  A  rtillery  I  Botetourt  A  rtillery  I " 

There  rushed  a  blue,  an  overpowering,  a  tidal  wave  —  out  of  the 
smoke  and  din,  bearing  with  it  its  own  smoke  and  din,  overmaster- 
ingly  strong,  McClernand's  general  advance.  At  the  same  moment, 
on  the  left,  struck  McPherson.  When  the  roar  that  followed  the 
impact  died,  the  blue  had  won  the  field  of  Port  Gibson;  the  grey  had 
lost. 

At  sunset,  Bowen's  retreating  regiments  re-crossed  Bayou  Pierre. 
The  exhaustion  of  the  troops  was  extreme.  There  was  no  food;  the 
men  sank  down  and  slept,  in  the  whispering  Southern  night,  in  the 
remote  light  of  other  worlds.  At  dawn  began  the  slow  falling-back 
upon  Vicksburg. 

Lieutenant-General  Pemberton  telegraphed  the  situation  to 
General  Johnston  in  Tennessee,  adding,  "I  should  have  large 
reinforcements." 

In  Tennessee,  Rosecrans  lay  menacingly  before  Bragg.  Johnston 
telegraphed  to  Pemberton,  "Reinforcements  cannot  be  sent  from 
here  without  giving  up  Tennessee.  Unite  all  your  forces  to  meet 
Grant.  Success  will  give  you  back  what  you  abandoned  to  win  it." 

Pemberton,  personally  a  brave  and  good  man,  looked  out  south 
and  east  from  Vicksburg  over  the  sparsely  settled,  tangled  country. 
He  looked  west,  indeed;  but  it  was  too  late  now  to  gather  to  him  the 
Army  of  the  Trans-Mississippi.  His  mind  agreed  that  perhaps  it 
should  have  been  done  in  December  .  .  .  The  troops  in  Vicksburg 
and  north  of  Vicksburg,  the  troops  at  Jackson,  the  troops  falling 
back  from  Grand  Gulf  —  leaving  out  the  garrison  at  Port  Hudson, 
one  might  count,  perhaps,  thirty  thousand  effectives.  Unite  all 


78  CEASE   FIRING 

these,  but  not  at  Vicksburg  .  .  .  move  out  from  Vicksburg,  ma 
noeuvre  here  and  manoeuvre  there,  and  at  last  take  Grant  some 
where  at  disadvantage.  .  .  .  General  Johnston's  plan  as  against 
the  President's.  .  .  .  Leave  Vicksburg  defenceless,  to  be  taken  by 
some  detached  force,  by  Sherman,  by  the  Federal  men-of-war  that 
could  now  march  up  and  down  the  Mississippi.  .  .  .  Pemberton 
looked  out  at  the  batteries  that  had  been  built,  all  the  field-works, 
all  the  trenches.  Most  useless  of  all  considerations  moved  him,  the 
consideration  of  the  pity,  of  the  waste  of  all  these.  He  looked  at  the 
very  gallant  town ;  he  thought  of  the  spirit  of  an  old  gentleman  and 
prominent  citizen  to  whom  he  had  talked  yesterday.  "  Before  God," 
said  Pemberton,  "I  am  not  going  to  give  up  Vicksburg!" 

The  third  day  after  Port  Gibson  the th  Virginia  came  again  to 

its  old  camp  above  the  river,  just  without  the  town.   Here,  the  next 
morning,  Edward  Gary  received  an  order  to  report  to  his  colonel. 
He  found  the  latter  at  Headquarters  and  saluted  —  the  colonel  be 
ing  an  old  schoolmate  and  hopelessly  in  love  with  his  sister  Unity. 
"Gary,"  said  the  colonel,  "we're  poorer  than  the  Ragged  Moun 
tains,  but  apparently  we  are  considered  highly  presentable,  a  real 
crack  command,  dandies  and  so  forth!  The  War  Department  wants 
a  word-of-mouth  description  of  Mississippi  conditions.   In  short, 
there 's  an  embassy  going  to  Richmond.  The  general  came  down  and 
asked  if  my  uniform  was  whole  and  if  I  could  muster  two  or  three 
men  in  decent  apparel.   Said  I  thought  I  could,  and  that  there  was 
a  patch,  but  I  did  n't  think  it  would  show.  I  am  going  to  take  you 
as  my  orderly.  The  train  for  Jackson  leaves  at  midday." 
"Yes,  sir.  It  is  ten  now.  May  I  have  the  two  hours  ?" 
"Yes.  I'll  take  you  on  now.  Tell  your  captain." 
Outside  he  heard  the  news  of  the  battle  of  Chancellorsville. 
"It  was  a  victory! "  said  the  men,  sore  from  Port  Gibson.  "A  big 
victory!  We're  having  them  straight  along  in  Virginia." 
"It  ain't  a  victory  to  have  Stonewall  Jackson  wounded." 
"Telegram  said  he'd  get  well.  Old  Jack  is  n't  going  to  leave  us. 
God!  We  'd  miss  him  awful!" 

Edward  and  Desiree  had  one  hour  together.  They  spent  it  in  the 
garden,  sitting  beneath  a  flowering  tree. 

"How  soon  are  you  coming  back  ?  Oh,  how  soon  are  you  coming 
back?" 


PORT   GIBSON  79 

"As  soon  as  we  may.  It  must  be  soon,  for  the  fighting  will  begin 
now.  Port  Gibson  was  but  the  opening  gun." 

"We  have  been  making  the  cave  for  this  house  larger.  A 
siege.  .  .  ." 

"I  do  not  believe  that  we  should  pen  ourselves  up  here.  Grant 
can  bring,  if  needed,  a  hundred  thousand  men.  He  is  a  dogged, 
earnest  man.  I  think  that  we  should  concentrate  as  rapidly  as  pos 
sible  and  move  from  behind  these  walls.  The  odds  are  not  much 
greater  than  they  were  in  the  Valley,  or  during  the  Seven  Days." 

"We  have  not  General  Jackson  and  General  Lee." 

"No,  but  the  Government  should  give  General  Johnston  free 
hand.  He  is  the  third." 

"Oh,  War!  —  When  will  it  end  and  how  ? " 

"When  we  have  fought  to  a  stand-still.  There  is  a  Trojan  feel  to 
it  all.  .  .  .  How  beautiful  you  are!  —  fighter  of  floods,  keeper  of 
home!  warrior  and  sufferer  more  than  I  am  warrior  and  sufferer!  I 
do  not  know  how  to  say  good-bye." 

He  had  in  Virginia  three  days.  There  was  no  time  nor  leave  for 
Greenwood.  His  father  was  upon  the  Rappahannock,  but  in  Rich 
mond  he  saw  Fauquier  Gary.  He  had  in  Richmond  two  days. 

The  town  lay  in  May  sunshine,  in  bloom  of  the  earliest  roses. 
They  mantled  the  old  porches,  the  iron  balconies,  while  above  the 
magnolias  opened  their  white  chalices.  The  town  breathed  gladness 
for  the  victory  in  the  Wilderness,  and  bitter  grief  for  the  many 
dead,  and  bitter  grief  for  Stonewall  Jackson.  Edward  heard  in 
Richmond  the  Dead  March  for  Jackson  and  watched  him  borne 
through  the  sighing  streets.  He  heard  the  minute  guns,  and  the  toll 
ing  bells,  and  the  slow,  heroic  music,  and  the  sobbing  of  the  people. 
He  saw  the  coffin,  borne  by  generals,  carried  into  the  Capitol,  up 
ward  and  between  the  great  white  Doric  columns,  into  the  Hall  of 
the  Lower  House,  where  it  rested  before  the  Speaker's  chair.  He  was 
among  the  thousands  who  passed  before  the  dead  chieftain,  lying  in 
state  among  lilies  and  roses,  shrouded  in  the  flag  of  Virginia,  in 
the  starry  banner  of  the  Confederate  States.  All  day  he  heard  the 
tolling  of  the  bells,  the  firing  of  the  minute  guns. 

On  the  morrow  began  the  return  journey  to  the  Mississippi,  long 
and  slow  on  the  creeping,  outworn  train,  over  the  road  that  was  so 
seldom  mended.  On  the  train  crept,  for  many  hundred  miles,  until 


8o  CEASE   FIRING 

just  within  the  boundaries  of  Mississippi,  at  a  crowded  station,  the 
passengers  heard  grave  news.  Jackson,  the  capital  of  the  State,  was 
in  Federal  hands! — there  had  been  a  desperate  and  disastrous  battle 
at  Baker's  Creek,  as  desperate  and  more  disastrous  than  Port  Gibson ! 
—  there  had  been  a  Confederate  rout  at  Big  Black  Bridge.  .  .  .  The 

colonel  of  the th  Virginia,  and  the  three  or  four  officers  and  men 

with  him,  left  the  train,  impressed  horses,  struck  north,  and  then 
west  and  south.  After  three  days  they  came  upon  a  grey  picket  line, 
passed,  and  entered  Vicksburg,  where  they  found  Pemberton  with 
something  over  twenty  thousand  effectives,  —  the  troops  that  had 
met  defeat  at  Baker's  Creek,  with  others  not  engaged,  —  all  under 
orders  from  Richmond  to  hold  Vicksburg  at  all  hazards. 

On  the  eighteenth,  the  Federal  forces  appeared  on  the  Jackson 
and  Grapevine  road,  east  of  the  town.  The  two  following  days  were 
spent  by  the  blue  in  making  their  lines  of  circumvallation.  The  grey 
and  the  blue  lines  were  about  eight  hundred  yards  apart.  On  the 
twenty-second,  the  ironclads  came  up  the  river  from  Grand  Gulf. 
When  they  opened  fire  on  the  town  and  its  defences,  which  they  did 
almost  immediately,  the  siege  of  Vicksburg  was  formally  begun. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IN   VIRGINIA 

THIRTY  guns  of  the  horse  artillery  moved  into  position  —  not 
for  battle,  but  for  a  splendid  review.  Right  and  left,  emerg 
ing  from  the  Virginia  forest  and  the  leafy  defiles  between  the 
hills,  came  with  earth-shaking  tread  the  cavalry,  a  great  force  of 
cavalry,  Jeb  Stuart's  splendid  brigades !  In  the  misty,  early  morning 
they  moved  into  line,  having  come  up  from  Brandy  Station  to  a 
plain  north  of  Culpeper  Court-House.  It  was  the  eighth  of  June, 
something  more  than  a  month  after  Chancellorsville. 

Beckham's  Horse  Artillery,  that  had  been  John  Pelham's,  having 
got  into  position,  proceeded  to  take  interest  in  the  forming  cavalry. 
There  was  so  magnificently  much  of  cavalry;  it  was  so  rested,  so 
recuperated,  so  victorious,  so  proud  of  its  past  and  determined  as  to 
its  future,  so  easy,  so  fine,  so  glorious,  so  stamped,  in  short,  with  the 
stamp  of  Jeb  Stuart,  that  to  watch  it  was  like  watching  a  high  and 
gay  pageant!  The  sound  of  its  movement,  its  jingle  and  clank,  was 
delightful;  delightful  the  brave  lilt  of  voices,  the  neighing  of  impa 
tient  horses,  delightful  the  keen  bugles!  The  mist  being  yet  heavy, 
there  was  much  of  mere  looming  shapes,  sounds  out  of  a  fogbank. 
The  plain  was  far  spread,  the  review  meant  to  be  a  noble  one.  There 
was  a  sense  of  distant  gaiety  as  of  near.  The  mist  hid  panoplied  war, 
and  far  away  bugles  rang  with  an  elfin  triumph. 

A  certain  company  of  the  horse  artillery  was  beautifully  placed  on 
a  small,  clear  knoll,  above  it  the  fine  leaves,  the  drooping,  sweet 
bloom  of  a  solitary  locust.  The  guns  were  ranged  in  order,  the  horses 
in  harness,  cropping  the  wet  grass  where  they  stood.  But  it  was 
early  yet  and  the  battery  men  had  not  received  the  order,  To  your 
pieces!  They  were  clustered  in  groups,  watching  the  gathering 
cavalry.  Lean  and  easy  and  powerful,  bronzed  and  young,  they 
cheerfully  commented  upon  life  in  general  and  the  scene  below. 

"Jeb  is  n't  here  yet!  He  bivouacked  last  night  at  Beverly  Ford. 
Orderly,  riding  by,  heard  the  banjo." 


82  CEASE   FIRING 

"Is  this  review  his  notion  or  Marse  Robert's  ?  " 

"I  reckon  I  can  answer  that.  I  was  at  headquarters.  Jeb  came 
out  of  that  lovely  little  cabin  he 's  got  with  a  letter  in  his  hand  which 
he  read  to  Heros  von  Borcke  — " 

"Yes?" 

"And  he  said  in  it  that  he  did  n't  believe  there  ever  had  been  in 
this  sinful  world  a  finer  cavalry  force,  and  would  n't  the  greatest 
general  on  earth  come  over  with  some  of  his  friends  and  review  the 
greatest  body  of  horse  — " 

"Sounds  like  him." 

"And  he  gave  the  letter  to  Heros  von  Borcke,  who  went  off  with 
it.  And  then  I  was  at  headquarters  again  — " 

"You  sound  like  the  Old  Testament!  Well,  you  were  at  head 
quarters  again  —  ?  " 

"And  Heros  von  Borcke  brought  an  order  from  Marse  Robert  — 
Jeb  and  all  of  us  to  come  over  and  be  reviewed  on  the  plain  north  of 
Culpeper.  Marse  Robert  said  he  'd  be  there  with  'some  of  his 
friends'—" 

"Longstreet,  I  reckon.  A.  P.  Hill's  still  at  Fredericksburg." 

"And  they  say  E well's  going  toward  the  Valley  — " 

To  right  and  left  there  sprang  a  rustling.  The  sun  strengthened, 
the  mist  began  to  lift,  a  number  of  bugles  blared  together.  Into  the 
very  atmosphere  sifted  something  like  golden  laughter.  A  shout 
arose  —  Jeb  Stuart !  Jeb  Stuart  I  Jeb  Stuart ! 

Out  of  the  misty  forest,  borne  high,  a  vivid  square  in  the  sea  of 
pearl,  came  a  large  battle-flag.  Crimson  and  blue  and  thirteen- 
starred,  forth  it  paced,  held  high  by  the  mounted  standard  bearer. 
The  horse  artillery  saluted  as  it  went  by,  going  on  to  a  sentinelled 
strip  of  greensward  where  stood  three  ancient  and  weather-beaten 
tents.  Here  it  was  planted,  and  here  in  the  June  wind  it  streamed 
outward  so  that  every  star  might  be  seen.  The  mist  yet  held  on  the 
farther  side  of  the  plain,  but  all  the  nearer  edge  was  growing  light 
and  sunny.  The  bugles  rang.  Jeb  Stuart !  Jeb  Stuart !  shouted  the 
plain  above  Culpeper. 

Stuart,  followed  by  his  staff,  trotted  from  the  forest.  He  wore  his 
fighting  jacket  and  his  hat  with  the  plume,  he  was  magnificently 
mounted,  he  stroked  his  wonderful,  sunny  beard,  and  he  laughed 
with  his  wonderful,  sunny,  blue  eyes.  He  had  more  verve  than  any 


IN   VIRGINIA  83 

leader  in  that  army;  he  was  brave  as  Ney;  the  army  adored  him! 
The  victory  of  Chancellorsville  was  his  victory  no  less  than  it  was 
that  of  Stonewall  Jackson  and  of  Robert  Lee.  All  knew  it,  and  the 
victory  was  but  five  short  weeks  ago.  The  glory  of  the  great  fight 
hung  about  him  like  a  golden  haze,  a  haze  that  magnified,  and  yet 
that,  perhaps,  did  not  magnify  overmuch,  for  he  was  a  noble  cavalry 
leader.  Suddenly,  — 

"  Old  Joe  Hooker,  won't  you  come  out  of  the  Wilderness  ?  " 

chanted  the  hosts  about  him. 

He  lifted  his  hat.  The  horse,  that  had  about  his  arching  neck  a 
great  wreath  of  syringa  and  roses,  pranced  on  to  the  colours  and 
stopped.  Staff  drew  up,  bugles  blew,  there  came  a  sound  of  drum 
and  fife,  mist  began  rapidly  to  lift.  "  Oh,"  breathed  Horse  Artillery, 
getting  into  place,  "most  things  have  a  compensatory  side!'1 

From  the  misty  middle  of  the  plain  came  with  tramp  and  jingle 
another  mounted  party.  One  rode  ahead  on  a  grey  horse.  Noble  of 
form  and  noble  of  face,  simple  and  courteous,  he  came  up  to  the 
great  flag  and  grandeur  came  with  him.  General  Lee!  General  Lee! 
shouted  Cavalry,  shouted  Horse  Artillery. 

Stuart,  who  had  dismounted,  came  forward,  saluting. 

"Ah,  General,"  said  Lee.  "I  am  going  to  review  you  with  much 
pleasure,  and  I  have  taken  you  at  your  word  and  brought  with  me 
some  of  my  friends." 

Stuart  beamed  upon  Longstreet,  commander  of  the  First  Corps, 
and  upon  several  division  generals. 

"Oh,  I  have  brought  more  than  these ! "  said  Lee.  "Look  how  the 
sun  is  drinking  up  the  mist!" 

As  he  spoke  the  sun  finished  the  draught.  The  rolling  plain  north 
of  Culpeper  lay  bare.  All  the  dewy,  green  middle  waited  for  the 
cavalry  evolutions,  for  the  march  past,  but  the  farther  side,  up  and 
down  and  over  against  Jeb  Stuart's  flag,  was  already  occupied 
and  not  by  cavalry.  Troops  and  troops  and  troops,  like  a  grey  wall 
pointed  with  banners!  —  Horse  Artillery,  from  its  place  of  vantage, 
stared,  then  softly  crowed.  "Great  day  in  the  morning!  Marse 
Robert  has  brought  the  whole  First  Corps!" 

Now  here,  now  there,  on  the  plain,  went  in  brilliant  manoeuvres 


84  CEASE  FIRING 

the  cavalry.  The  horse  artillery  came  into  line,  manoeuvred  and 
thundered  as  brilliantly.  The  massed  infantry  cheered,  the  review 
ing  general  stood  with  a  grave  light  in  his  eyes.  Jeb  Stuart  shifted  his 
place  like  a  sunbeam.  Oh,  the  blowing  bugles;  oh,  the  red  and  blue 
flag  outstreaming;  oh,  the  sunlight  and  the  clear  martial  sounds  and 
the  high,  high  hopes  on  the  plain  north  of  Culpeper!  June  was  in  the 
heart  of  most;  doubly,  doubly  was  it  the  Confederacy's  June,  this 
month!  Great  victories  in  Virginia  lay  behind  it:  in  the  Far  South 
there  had  been  disasters,  but  Vicksburg  —  Vicksburg  was  heroically 
standing  the  siege.  And  in  front  lay,  perhaps,  the  crossing  of  the 
Potomac  and  the  carrying  the  war  into  Africa!  June,  June,  June!  it 
sang  in  the  blood  of  the  grey.  Long  and  horrible  had  been  the  war, 
and  many  were  the  lost,  and  tears  had  drenched  the  land,  but  now  it 
was  summer  and  victory  would  come  before  the  autumn.  The 
North  was  tired  of  spilling  blood  and  treasure;  there  sounded  a 
clamour  for  peace.  One  or  two  other  great  victories,  and  peace  would 
descend  and  the  great  Confederacy  would  stand!  The  march  past 
raised  its  eyes  to  the  crimson  banner  with  the  thirteen  stars,  and 
June  was  in  every  soldier's  heart. 

The  march  past  was  a  thing  to  have  seen  and  to  remember.  By  the 
starry  banner,  by  Robert  Edward  Lee,  went  the  cavalry  brigades 
of  his  son,  "Roony"  Lee,  of  his  nephew,  Fitzhugh  Lee,  of  Beverly 
Robertson,  of  W.  E.  Jones,  of  Wade  Hampton.  They  lifted  their 
sabres,  the  sun  made  a  dazzle  of  steel.  June,  June,  June !  sang  the 
bugles,  sang  the  birds  in  the  woods  back  of  the  warm-hearted,  the 
admiring  infantry.  Past  went  the  horse  artillery,  the  thirty  guns, 
the  proud  battery  horses,  the  easy  and  bronzed  cannoneers,  the 
grave  young  officers.  .  .  .  General  Lee!  General  Lee  I  shouted 
Cavalry,  shouted  Artillery !  The  dust  rose  from  the  plain,  all  grew  a 
shimmering  blur.  .  .  . 

It  was  over,  the  great  cavalry  review.  The  day  descended;  the 
troops  drew  off  toward  hidden  bivouacs.  Lee  and  Longstreet  and 
Stuart  rode  together  awhile,  under  the  sunset  sky.  Staff,  behind 
them,  understood  that  great  things  were  being  spoken  of  — marches 
toward  Maryland,  perhaps,  or  a  watch  on  Joe  Hooker,  or  the,  of 
late,  vastly  increased  efficiency  of  the  enemy's  cavalry.  Staff  had  its 
own  opinion  as  to  this.  "They  always  could  fight,  and  now  they've 
learned  to  ride!  Pity!" 


IN   VIRGINIA  85 

"I  don't  call  it  a  pity.  I 'd  rather  meet  them  equal.  Pleasanton 's 
all  right." 

" We've  had  a  beautiful  review  and  we've  also  made  a  lot  of 
noise,  to  say  nothing  of  a  dust  cloud  like  the  Seven  Days  come  back. 
Double  pickets  to-night,  I  should  say.  We  are  n't  a  million  miles 
from  Hooker." 

"That's  true  enough.  —  Halt!  General  Lee's  going  back." 

Under  a  great  flush  of  sunset  coral  and  gold  above  the  trees,  Lee 
and  his  cavalry  leader  parted.  The  one  smiled,  the  other  laughed, 
they  touched  gauntleted  hands,  and  Lee  turned  grey  Traveller. 
Longstreet  joined  him  and  they  rode  away,  staff  falling  in  behind, 
out  of  the  June-time  forest,  back  to  the  encampment  at  Culpeper. 
A  moment  and  their  figures  were  drowned  in  the  violet  evening. 
Jeb  Stuart,  singing,  plunged  with  his  staff  into  the  woods.  His  head 
quarters  were  at  Brandy  Station. 

The  starry  night  found  this  village  filled  with  troops.  They 
bivouacked,  moreover,  all  about  it,  on  Fleetwood  Hill  and  toward 
St.  James  Church.  There  were  outposts,  too,  toward  the  Rappa- 
hannock;  a  considerable  troop  tethered  its  horses  on  the  bank  above 
Beverly  Ford.  Others  went  toward  Providence  Church  and  Norman's 
Ford,  others  toward  Kelly's.  Eight  thousand  horse  bivouacked 
beneath  the  stars.  Camp-fire  saw  camp-fire,  and  the  rustling  night 
wind  and  the  murmuring  streams  heard  other  voices  than  their  own, 
heard  voices  full  of  cheer. 

The  horse  artillery  prepared  to  spend  the  night  in  a  grassy  field 
beside  the  Beverly  Ford  road.  In  front  was  a  piece  of  thick  woods. 
The  battery  horses,  tethered  in  a  long  line,  began  to  crop  the  grass. 
The  guns,  each  known  and  loved  like  an  old  familiar,  were  parked. 
The  men  gathered  dry  wood  for  their  supper  fires,  fried  their  bacon, 
baked  their  corn-meal  pones,  brewed  their  "coffee"  —  chiccory, 
rye,  or  sweet  potato,  as  the  case  might  be.  There  was  much  low 
laughter  and  crooning,  and  presently  clouds  of  tobacco  smoke. 
Beautiful  review  —  beautiful  day  —  rest  to-night  —  march  to 
morrow —  Jeb  lovely  as  ever  —  going  to  end  this  blessed  war  — 
pile  on  the  pine  knots  so  we  can  read  the  letters  from  home !  .  .  . 

Toward  midnight,  on  the  farther  edge  of  the  wood,  a  post  of  the 
horse  artillery  relieved  its  pickets.  The  sound  of  the  retiring  steps 
died  away  and  the  fresh  sentinels  took  cognizance  of  their  positions. 


86  CEASE   FIRING 

The  positions  were  some  distance  apart,  between  them  wood  and 
uneven  ground  and  the  murmurous  night.  Each  picket  was  a  lonely 
man,  with  the  knowledge  only  that  if  he  raised  his  voice  to  a  shout 
he  would  be  heard. 

The  moon  shone  brightly.  It  silvered  the  Beverly  Ford  road  and 
made  a  frosted  wall  of  the  forest  left  and  right,  and  bathed  with  the 
mildest  light  the  open  and  undulating  country.  Somewhere  a  whip- 
poor-will  was  calling.  Whip-poor-will  I  Whip-poor-will ! 

Beside  the  road  sprang  a  giant  sycamore.  From  beneath  it  Philip 
Deaderick,  once  Richard  Cleave,  standing  picket,  watched  the 
night.  He  stood  straight  and  still,  powerfully  knit,  his  short  rifle  in 
the  hollow  of  his  arm.  He  stood  grave  and  quiet,  a  wronged  but  not 
unhappy  man.  The  inner  life,  the  only  life,  had  marched  on.  A  gulf 
had  opened  and  certain  hopes  and  happinesses  had  fallen  therein, 
but  his  life  was  larger  than  those  hopes  and  happinesses.  The  inner 
man  had  marched  on.  He  had  marched  even  with  a  quickened  step 
in  this  last  month.  "  What  did  it  matter?  "  reasoned  Cleave.  "  Those 
whom  I  love  know,  and  I  am  not  cut  off  from  service,  no,  nor  from 
growth!"  Around,  above,  below  the  sharpened  point  of  the  mo 
ment  he  was  aware  enough  of  the  larger  man.  The  point  might 
ache  at  times,  but  he  knew  also  impersonal  freedom.  .  .  .  Things 
might  be  righted  some  day  or  they  might  not  be  righted.  He  could 
wait.  He  looked  from  the  shadow  of  the  sycamore  out  upon  the 
lovely,  moonlit  land.  Tragedy,  death,  and  sorrow  through  all  the 
world,  interpretations  at  grips,  broken  purposes,  misunderstandings, 
humanity  groping,  groping !  He  ached  for  it  all  —  for  the  woman 
sleepless  on  her  pillow,  for  the  prisoner  in  prison.  The  spirit 
widened;  he  stood  calm  under  all,  quiet,  with  suspended  judg 
ment.  Whip-poor-will  I  Whip-poor-will  I  He  looked  up  and  studied 
the  stars  between  the  silver  branches  of  the  sycamore,  then  dropped 
his  gaze  and  leaned  slightly  forward,  for  he  heard  the  tread  of  horses 
on  the  road. 

Two  horsemen,  one  in  front,  the  other  a  little  way  behind,  came 
quietly  up  the  silver  streak. 

"Halt!  "said  Deaderick. 

The  two  drew  rein.  "All  right!"  said  the  one  in  advance.  "A 
friend.  Colonel  of  Gary's  Legion,  with  an  orderly." 

"Advance,  friend,  and  give  the  countersign." 


IN   VIRGINIA  87 


"  Correct,  Imy.  Pass!" 

The  officer,  with  a  motion  of  his  hand  to  the  orderly  to  stay  where 
he  was,  came  closer  to  the  picket.  "  Before  I  do  so,"  he  said,  and  his 
tone  was  a  strange  one,  "  tell  me  your  name." 

"Philip  Deaderick." 

"You  are  trying  to  disguise  your  voice.  .  .  .  Richard!" 

"Don't,  Fauquier!  I  am  Philip  Deaderick,  gunner  in  -  's 
battery,  horse  artillery." 

"How  long?" 

"Since  Groveton.  Don't  betray  me." 

"Who  knows  ?  Does  Judith  know  ?" 

"Yes.  She  and  my  mother." 

The  other  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  then  spoke,  much 
moved.  "Richard,  if  ever  this  war  gives  us  time  we  might  reopen 
matters.  We  surely  have  influence  enough  —  " 

"I  know,  Fauquier.  But  there  is  no  time  now  to  be  given  nor  stress 
to  be  laid  on  private  matters.  Somehow  they  have  sunk  away.  .  .  . 
Perhaps  a  day  will  come,  and  perhaps  it  will  not  come.  ...  In  the 
mean  time  dismissal  from  the  army  has  not  worked.  I  am  back  in 
the  army." 

"And  are  not  unhappy  ?  You  do  not  sound  unhappy." 

"No.  I  am  not  unhappy.  Only  now  and  then.  ...  Be  careful, 
will  you  ?  If  I  were  known  I  should  be  unhappy  soon  enough!" 

"You  may  trust  me."  He  leaned  from  the  saddle  and  put  his  hand 
on  the  other's  shoulder.  "  Richard,  you  're  a  true  man.  I  've  always 
honoured  you,  and  I  honour  you  more  than  ever!  Truth  will  out! 
You  be  sure  of  that." 

"I  am  at  times  reasonably  sure  of  it,  Fauquier.  And  if  it  does  not 
appear,  I  am  reasonably  sure  that  I  can  endure  the  darkness.  I  told 
you  that  I  was  not  unhappy."  He  laid  an  affectionate  touch  on  the 
other's  hand.  "  I  was  sorry  enough  to  hear  about  the  arm,  Fauquier." 

"Oh,"  said  Gary,  "I  have  learned  to  use  the  left.  I  had  rather  it 
was  the  arm  than  the  leg,  like  dear  old  Ewell!  .  .  .  Richard,  meet 
ing  you  like  this  moves  me  more  than  I  can  well  let  show.  I  've  got  so 
much  of  my  mother  in  me  that  I  'd  like  to  kiss  you,  my  dear  —  "  He 
bent  as  he  spoke  and  touched  with  his  lips  the  other's  broad,  uplifted 
brow,  which  done,  with  a  great  handclasp  they  parted.  Gary,  turn- 


88  CEASE  FIRING 

ing,  called  to  the  orderly  who  came  up.  The  two  rode  on  toward 
Brandy  Station,  and  Deaderick  resumed  his  watch. 

Another  time  passed.  The  moon  rode  high,  the  forest  rustled,  the 
road  lay  a  silver  streak.  Deaderick,  still  and  straight  beneath  the 
sycamore,  presently  turned  his  head  and  regarded  the  line  of  woods 
upon  his  left.  He  had  caught  a  sound  —  but  it  was  some  distance 
away.  It  had  been  faint,  but  it  was  like  a  horse  being  pushed 
cautiously  through  undergrowth.  Now  there  was  no  more  of  it. 
He  stood  listening,  with  narrowed  eyes.  The  bushes  a  hundred  feet 
away  parted  and  a  man  and  horse  emerged.  They  stopped  a  mo 
ment  and  the  man  rose  in  his  stirrups  and  looked  about  him.  Then, 
with  a  satisfied  nod,  he  settled  to  the  saddle  again  and  the  two  came 
through  the  thin  growth  down  to  the  road. 

"Halt!"  said  Deaderick,  cocking  his  rifle. 

The  horseman  came  on.   "Halt!  or  I  fire." 

The  horse  was  stopped.  "Don't  waste  your  bullets  on  me  I"  said 
the  rider  coolly.  "Save  them  for  the  Yankees." 

"Dismount  before  you  advance." 

"I  have  the  countersign.  I  am  Lieutenant  Francis,  bearing  ari 
enquiry  from  General  Lee." 

"Dismount  before  you  advance." 

The  officer  dismounted.  He  was  a  tall  man,  wrapped,  though  the 
night  was  warm,  in  a  grey  horseman's  cloak.  "You  are  tremend 
ously  careful  to-night!  I  suppose  my  horse  may  follow  me?  He 
does  n't  stand  well." 

"Fasten  him  to  the  sapling  beside  you.  —  Advance  and  give  the 
countersign." 

The  tall  man  came  up,  revealing,  beneath  a  grey  hat  pulled  low,  a 
tanned  countenance  with  long  mustaches.  "Ivry.  I'll  tell  General 
Stuart  that  you  are  about  the  most  cautious  picket  he's  got.  I 
remember  having  to  convince  just  such  another  when  I  was  in 
Texas  in  '43  — " 

"Did  you  convince  him  ?" 

"I  did.  The  word  is  Ivry.  Allow  me  to  pass." 

"Be  so  good  first  as  to  open  your  cloak.  It  is  too  warm  to  wear 
it  so." 

"My  man,  you  are  on  your  way  to  the  guardhouse.  Messengers 
from  General  Lee  are  not  accustomed  —  What  is  that  ?  " 


IN   VIRGINIA  89 

"Nothing.  I  was  humming  a  line  of  an  old  carol.  Do  you  remem 
ber  the  road  to  Frederick  ?  " 

Dead  silence,  then  a  movement  of  Marchmont's  hand  beneath 
the  cloak.  Cleave  divined,  and  was  upon  him.  Not  so  tall,  but  more 
powerfully  built  and  a  master  wrestler,  the  tug  of  war  was  a  short 
one.  The  pistol,  wrenched  from  the  Englishman's  grasp,  fell  to  the 
ground  and  was  kicked  away.  The  two  struggling  figures  swung 
round  until  Marchmont  was  nearer  the  sycamore,  Cleave  between 
him  and  the  horse.  Another  fierce  instant  and  the  Englishman  was 
thrown  —  the  picket's  rifle  covered  him. 

"I  regret  it,"  said  Cleave,  "but  it  can't  be  helped.  I  wish  that 
some  other  had  been  sent  in  your  place."  He  raised  his  voice  to  a 
shout.  "Picket  two!  A  prisoner.  Send  guard!"  There  came  back 
a  faint  "All  right!  Hold  on!" 

Marchmont  sat  up  and  picked  the  leaves  from  his  clothing. 
"Well,  I  have  thought  of  you  more  than  once,  and  wished  that  we 
might  meet  again!  Not  precisely  under  such  auspices  as  these,  but 
under  others.  I  was  obliged  to  you,  I  remember,  that  day  at  Front 
Royal." 

"It  was  a  personal  matter  then,  in  which  I  might  indulge  my 
own  inclination.  To-night  I  regret  that  it  is  not  a  personal 
matter." 

"Exactly.  Well,  I  bear  you  no  grudge.  'Fortune  of  war!'  At 
Front  Royal  you  were  a  colonel  leading  a  charge  —  may  I  ask  why  I 
find  you  playing  sentry  ?" 

"That  is  a  long  story,"  said  Cleave.  "I  am  sorry  that  I  should 
be  your  captor,  and  it  is  entirely  within  your  right  to  deny  the 
request  I  am  going  to  make.  I  am  Philip  Deaderick,  a  private 
soldier.  I  ask  you  to  forget  that  I  ever  had  another  name." 

"All  right,  Philip  Deaderick,  private  soldier!"  said  Marchmont. 
"Whatever  may  be  your  reasons,  I  won't  blab.  I  liked  you  very 
well  on  the  road  to  Frederick,  and  very  well  that  day  at  Front 
Royal.  —  To-night  was  just  a  cursed  fanfaronade.  Knew  you 
must  all  be  hereabouts.  Crossed  over  to  see  what  I  could  see,  got 
the  word  and  this  damned  cloak  and  hat  from  a  spy,  and  ambled 
at  once  into  the  arms  of  a  man  who  could  recognize  me !  Absurd ! 
And  here  comes  the  guard." 

Guard  came  up.  "What  is  it,  Deaderick  ?  Deserter  ?  Spy  ?" 


90  CEASE   FIRING 

"It's  not  a  deserter,"  said  Deaderick.  "It's  somebody  in  a  blue 
uniform  beneath  a  grey  cloak.  I  don't  think  he's  an  accredited  spy 
—  probably  just  an  officer  straying  around  and  by  chance  hearing 
the  word  and  acting  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  You  'd  better  take 
him  to  the  captain  back  on  the  road." 

Another  hour  passed  and  he  was  relieved.  Back  with  the  outpost 
he  lay  down  upon  the  summer  earth  and  tried  to  sleep.  But  the 
two  encounters  of  the  night  had  set  the  past  to  ringing.  He  could 
not  still  the  reverberations.  Greenwood !  Greenwood !  —  the  place 
and  one  within  it  —  and  one  within  it  —  and  one  within  it!  ... 
And  then  Marchmont,  and  the  hopes  and  ambitions  that  once 
Richard  Cleave  had  known.  "A  colonel  leading  a  charge"  — 
and  the  highest  service  in  sight  —  and  a  man's  knowledge  of  his 
own  ability.  .  .  .  Philip  Deaderick  turned  and  lay  with  his  face  to 
the  earth,  his  arm  across  his  eyes.  He  fought  it  out,  the  thousandth 
inner  battle,  then  turned  again  and  lay,  looking  sideways  along  the 
misty  night. 

In  the  distance  a  cock  crew.  The  chill  air,  the  unearthly  quiet  told 
the  hour  before  dawn.  The  east  grew  pale,  then  into  it  crept  faint 
streaks  of  purple.  The  birds  in  the  woodland  began  incessantly  to 
cheep !  cheep  I  The  mist  was  very  heavy.  It  hid  the  road/swathedjall 
the  horizon.  Reveille  sounded:  the  bugler,  mounted  on  a  hill  behind 
the  guns,  looked,  in  the  moody  light,  like  some  Brocken  spectre. 
Far  and  wide,  full  at  hand,  thin  and  elfin  in  the  distance,  rang 
other  reveilles.  They  rang  through  the  streets  of  Brandy  Station 
and  through  the  surrounding  forests,  fields,  and  dales,  waking  Jeb 
Stuart's  thousands  from  their  sleep. 

Horse  Artillery  stood  up,  rubbed  its  eyes,  and  made  a  speedy 
toilet.  In  the  shortest  possible  time  the  men  were  cooking  break 
fast.  Cooking  breakfast  being  at  no  time  in  the  Army  of  Northern 
Virginia  a  prolonged  operation,  they  were  to  be  found  in  an  equally 
short  space  of  time  seated  about  mess-fires  eating  it.  It  was  yet  dank 
and  chilly  dawn,  the  east  reddening  but  not  so  very  red,  the  mist 
hanging  heavy,  closing  all  perspectives.  Horse  Artillery  lifted  its  tin 
cup,  filled  with  steaming  mock-coffee,  to  its  lips  —  Crack  I  crack  I 
came  the  rifle  shots  from  the  Beverly  Ford  woods.  Horse  Artillery 
set  down  its  cup.  "What's  that  ?  What  are  all  those  pickets  firing 
that  way  for  ?  Good  Lord,  if  there 's  going  to  be  a  surprise,  why 


IN   VIRGINIA  91 

could  n't  they  wait  until  after  breakfast  ?  Get  the  horses  and  limber 
up  I  —  All  right,  Captain  —  " 

Vedettes,  driven  in,xame  galloping  up  the  road.  "Blue  cavalry! 
No  end  of  blue  cavalry !  Column  crossing,  and  a  whole  lot  of  them 
up  in  the  woods!  Nobody  could  see  them,  the  mist  was  so  heavy! 
You  slow  old  Artillery,  you'd  better  look  out!" 

Beckham  came  up.  "  Cap  tain  Hart,  draw  a  piece  by  hand  down 
into  the  road !  Get  hitched  up  there,  double-quick !  Into  position  on 
the  knoll  yonder!  —  Oh,  here  comes  support!" 

The  Sixth  Virginia  Cavalry  had  been  on  picket;  the  Seventh 
Virginia  Cavalry  doing  grand  guard.  Alert  and  in  the  saddle,  they 
had  seen  and  heard.  Now  from  toward  Brandy  Station  up  they 
raced,  like  a  friendly  whirlwind,  to  the  point  of  danger.  A  cheer 
from  the  artillery  welcomed  them,  and  they  shouted  in  return. 
Flournoy  and  the  Sixth  dashed  down  the  Beverly  Ford  road  and 
deployed  in  the  woods  to  the  right.  Marshall  and  the  Seventh  fol 
lowed  and  deployed  to  the  left.  Artillery  limbered  up  and  took  to 
the  high  ground  near  St.  James  Church.  Up  galloped  Eleventh  and 
Twelfth  Virginia  and  fell  into  line  behind  the  guns. 

Jeb  Stuart,  in  the  saddle  on  Fleetwood  Hill,  his  blue  eyes 
upon  the  Beverly  Ford  situation,  found  a  breathless  aide  beside 
him. 

"General!  General!  They're  crossing  below  at  Kelly's  Ford! 
Two  divisions  — [artillery  and  infantry  behind !  They  've  got  us  front 
and  rear!" 

Stuart's  eyes  danced.  He  stroked  his  beard.  "All  right!  All 
right!  I '11  send  Robertson  and  Hampton—  Here's  W.  F.H.  Lee  — 
Gary,  too!  This  is  going  to  be  the  dandiest  fight!" 

A  brigadier  galloped  up.  "General,  shall  we  detach  regiments  to 
guard  all  approaches?" 

"Too  many  approaches,  General!  We'll  keep  concentrated  and 
deliver  the  blow  where  the  blow  is  due !  Will  you  listen  to  that  de 
lightful  fuss  ?  —  Dabney,  you  go  tell  General  Hampton  to  place 
a  dismounted  battalion  by  Carrico  Mills." 

The  clang  and  firing  in  the  Beverly  Ford  woods  grew  furious  — 
the  Sixth  and  Seventh  fighting  with  the  Eighth  New  York  and  the 
Eighth  Illinois.  On  pushed  the  Federal  horse,  many  and  bold, 
Buford's  Regulars,  trained,  efficient.  The  forward  surge,  the  back- 


92  CEASE  FIRING 

ward  giving,  brought  all  upon  the  edge  of  the  wood.  There  was 
charge  and  countercharge,  carbine  firing,  sabring,  shouts,  scream 
of  horses,  shock  and  fire,  hand-to-hand  fighting.  Back  and  upward 
roared  the  surge,  up  and  over  the  hill  where  were  the  guns,  the  guns 
that  were  trained,  but  could  not  be  fired,  so  inextricably  was  friend 
intertwined  with  foe.  The  shouting  blue  laid  hold  of  the  guns;  the 
cannoneers  fought  hand-to-hand,  with  pistol  muzzle  and  pistol  butt, 
dragging  at  the  horses'  reins,  striking  men  from  the  saddle,  covering 
the  guns,  wrenching  off  the  blue  clutch.  Then  came  like  a  jubilant 
whirlwind  the  supporting  grey,  Hampton  and  Lee. 

"Is  n't  it  beautiful  ?"  asked  Jeb  Stuart  on  Fleetwood  Hill.  "Oh, 
ho!  They're  coming  thick  from  Kelly's  Ford!" 

"General  Robertson  reports,  sir,  that  there's  artillery  and  infan 
try  on  his  front.  The  cavalry,  in  great  strength,  is  sweeping  to  the 
right—" 

"Fine!  They're  all  coming  to  Fleetwood  Hill.  Go,  tell  Major 
Beckham  to  send  any  guns  that  he  can  spare." 

Beckham  sent  two  of  McGregor's.  Artillery  was  in  straits  of  its 
own.  Charges  from  the  Beverly  Ford  woods  might  be  repelled,  but 
now  arose  the  dust  and  thunder  of  the  advance  from  Kelly's.  Im 
possible  to  stay  before  St.  James  Church  and  become  grain  between 
the  upper  and  nether  millstones !  Artillery  fell  back,  first  to  Pettis's 
Hill,  then  to  Fleetwood,  and  fell  back  with  three  pieces  disabled. 
Before  they  could  get  into  position,  Buford's  regiments  charged 
again.  There  followed  a  melee.  The  cannoneers,  too,  must  deal 
with  that  charge.  They  had  pistols  which  they  used,  they  had 
sponge  staff  and  odd  bits  of  iron.  As  soon  as  it  was  humanly  pos 
sible,  they  got  a  gun  into  service  —  then  two.  The  shells  broke 
and  scattered  the  shouting  blue  lines. 

Through  Brandy  Station  charged  regiment  after  regiment,  — 
blue,  magnificent,  shouting,  —  Gregg  and  Duffie's  divisions  up 
from  Kelly's  Ford.  A  dismounted  squadron  of  Robertson's  broke 
before  them ;  they  fell  upon  a  supporting  battery  and  took  the  guns. 
On  they  roared,  through  Brandy  Station,  out  to  Fleetwood  Hill. 
Jeb  Stuart  swung  his  hat.  "Now,  Cavalry  of  the  Army  of  Northern 
Virginia!  Now,  Cavalry  of  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia!" 

There  followed  a  great  cavalry  fight.  Squadron  dashed  against 
squadron.  All  was  gleaming  and  dust  and  shouting,  carbine  smoke 


IN   VIRGINIA  93 

and  wheeled  lightning  of  sabres.  June  stood  a-tiptoe;  the  earth 
seemed  to  rock;  a  hundred  brilliant  colours  went  in  sparkles  before 
the  eyes,  the  ears  rang.  There  was  a  mad  excitement  in  which, 
whether  time  plunged  forward  like  a  cataract,  or  stood  still  like  an 
arrested  hearkener  to  the  last  trump,  none  in  that  abandonment 
could  have  told.  It  was  a  gay  fight,  shrieking  with  excitement,  the 
horses  mad  as  the  riders,  the  air  shaking  like  castanets.  The  squad 
rons  crashed  together,  the  sabres  swung,  the  pistols  cracked !  Down 
went  men  and  horses,  biting  the  dust,  gaiety  going  out  like  a  blown 
candle.  Without,  air  and  sunshine  and  wild  animal  exultation; 
within,  pain,  smothering,  and  darkness,  darkness.  .  .  .  The  guns 
were  taken,  the  guns  were  retaken;  the  grey  gave  back,  the  blue 
gave  back.  The  battle  lines  wheeled  and  charged,  wheeled  and 
charged.  There  was  shock  and  fire  and  a  mad  melee  —  a  staccato 
fight,  with  cymbal  and  quick  drum.  And  ever  in  front  tossed  the 
feather  of  Stuart. 

To  and  fro,  through  the  hot  June  weather,  the  battle  swung. 
Though  no  one  could  tell  the  time,  time  passed.  The  blue  gave 
back  —  slowly.  Slowly  the  grey  pressed  them  eastward.  A  train 
shrieked  into  Brandy  Station,  and  grey  infantry  came  tumbling  out. 
Loud  blew  Pleasan ton's  bugles.  "Leave  the  fight  a  drawn  fight,  and 
come  away!" 

With  deliberation  the  blue,  yet  in  battle  front,  moved  eastward 
to  the  fords  of  the  Rappahannock.  After  them  pressed  the  grey. 
An  aide,  dust  from  head  to  foot,  rode  neck  by  neck  with  Stuart. 
''General!  we  are  being  hard  put  to  it  on  the  left  —  Buford's 
Regulars !  General  Lee  has  a  wound.  We  Ve  got  a  battery,  but 
the  ammunition's  out — "  The  feather  of  Stuart  turned  again  to 
the  Beverly  Ford  road. 

W.  H.  F.  Lee's  troops,  re-forming,  charged  again,  desperately, 
brilliantly.  Munford,  commanding  Fitzhugh  Lee's  brigade,  had 
been  up  the  river  at  Wellford's  Ford.  Now,  bringing  with  him 
Breathed's  battery,  he  fell  upon  the  blue  flank.  Buford  gave  way; 
the  grey  came  on  with  a  yell.  Down  through  the  Beverly  woods, 
past  the  spot  where,  at  dawn,  there  had  been  outpost  fighting,  down 
to  the  ford  again,  rolled  the  blue.  The  feather  of  Stuart  went  by  in 
pursuit. 

Philip  Deaderick,  resting  after  a  hard  fight,  leaning  against  a  yet 


94  CEASE  FIRING 

smoking  gun,  watched  with  his  fellows  the  retreat  of  the  tide  that 
had  threatened  to  overwhelm.  The  tide  was  finding  outlet  by  all 
the  fords  of  the  Rappahannock.  It  was  streaming  back  from  all  the 
region  about  Brandy  Station.  It  went  in  spirits,  retiring,  but  hardly 
what  one  might  call  defeated.  It  had  been,  in  sooth,  all  but  a  drawn 
battle  —  a  brilliant  cavalry  battle,  to  be  likened,  on  an  enormous 
scale,  to  some  flashing  joust  of  the  Middle  Ages. 

Deaderick,  watching,  leaned  forward  with  a  sound  almost  of 
satisfaction.  Below  him  passed  two  men,  riding  double,  blue  gal 
lopers  toward  Beverly  Ford.  The  one  behind,  without  cloak  or  hat, 
saw  him,  waved  his  arm  and  shouted,  "Au  revoir,  Lieutenant 
McNeil!" 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   STONEWALL 

FIVE  days  before  the  fight  at  Brandy  Station,  Ewell  and  the 
Second  Corps,  quitting  the  encampment  near  Fredericksburg 
and  marching  rapidly,  had  disappeared  in  the  distance  toward 
the  Valley.  Two  days  after  the  fight,  Hooker,  well  enough  aware 
by  now  that  grey  plans  were  hatching,  began  the  withdrawal  of  the 
great  army  that  had  rested  so  long  on  the  northern  bank  of  the  Rap- 
pahannock.  A.  P.  Hill  and  the  Third  Corps,  watching  operations 
from  the  south  bank,  waited  only  for  the  withdrawal  from  Falmouth 
of  the  mass  of  the  enemy.  When  it  was  gone,  Hill  and  the  Third, 
moving  with  expedition,  joined  Lee  and  Longstreet  at  Culpeper 
Court-House. 

Stuart  and  his  thousands  rested  from  Brandy  Station  and  observed 
movements.  All  day  the  grey  infantry  moved  by,  streaming  toward 
the  Blue  Ridge.  Cavalry  speculated.  "Jeb  knows,  of  course,  and 
the  brigadiers  I  reckon,  and  I  suppose  Company  Q  knows,  but  I  wish 
I  did!  Are  we  going  to  Ohio,  or  Maryland,  or  Pennsylvania,  or  just 
back  to  the  blessed  old  Valley?  I  don't  hold  with  not  telling  soldiers 
things,  just  because  they  don't  have  bars  on  their  collars  or  stars  or 
sashes!  We've  got  a  right  to  know  — " 

"What's  in  those  wagons  —  the  long  white  ones  with  six  horses?  " 

"Banged  if  I  know!" 

"Boys,  /  know!  Them's  pontoons!" 

"Pontoons!  We're  going  to  cross  the  Potomac!" 

On  went  the  infantry,  over  country  roads,  through  the  forest, 
over  open  fields.  There  were  no  fences  now  in  this  region,  and  few, 
few  standing  crops.  All  day  the  infantry  streamed  by,  going  toward 
the  Blue  Ridge.  Before  sunset  blew  the  trumpets  of  Stuart.  "Boot 
and  saddle!"  quoth  the  men.  "Now  we  are  going,  too!" 

Ewell  and  the  Second  Corps,  far  in  advance  of  the  First,  the  Third 
and  the  cavalry,  pierced  the  Blue  Ridge  at  Chester  Gap.  "  Old  Dick  " 
had  left  a  leg  at  Grove  ton,  but  he  himself  was  here,  going  ahead  of 


96  CEASE  FIRING 

his  troops,  a  graver  man  than  of  old,  but  irascible  yet,  quaintly 
lovable  yet  and  well  loved.  Behind  him  he  heard  the  tramp  of  his 
thousands,  Jubal  Early's  division,  Edward  Johnson's  division,  the 
division  of  Rodes.  They  were  going  back  to  the  Valley,  and  they 
were  going  to  take  Winchester,  held  by  Milroy  and  eight  thousand. 
The  Stonewall  Brigade,  led  now  by  Walker,  was  numbered  in 
Edward  Johnson's  division.  It  marched  near  the  head  of  the  column, 
and  it  gazed  with  an  experienced  eye  upon  the  wall  of  the  Blue 
Ridge.  How  many  times,  O  Mars,  how  many  times!  Up,  up  the 
June  heights  wound  the  column,  between  leafy  towers,  by  running 
water,  beneath  a  cloudless  sky.  The  Sixty-fifth  Virginia,  Colonel 
Erskine,  broke  into  song. 

"Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 
An'  never  brought  to  mind  .  .  . 
For  auld  lang  syne,  my  dear, 
For  auld  lang  syne  — " 

Allan  Gold  was  not  marching  with  the  Sixty-fifth.  He  was  half  a 
day  ahead,  scouting.  Around  stretched  the  rich  woods  of  the  western 
slope  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  below  lay  the  wooded  valley  of  the  Shenan- 
doah.  He  saw  the  road  to  Front  Royal,  and  before  him  the  Massa- 
nuttens  closed  the  view.  He  had  been  travelling  since  sun-up,  and 
now,  at  noon,  he  was  willing  enough  to  camp  awhile.  He  chose  the 
bottom  of  a  knife-blade  ravine  where  was  a  trickle  of  water  beneath 
laurels  in  bloom.  The  sun  came  down  between  leaves  of  ash  and 
hickory;  the  topmost  branches  just  stirred,  bees  buzzed,  birds 
sang  far  and  wide.  He  was  quite  alone  with  the  earth.  First  he  set 
his  rifle  against  a  hickory,  and  then  he  gathered  a  very  small  heap  of 
twigs  and  dead  leaves,  and  then  he  set  fire  to  these.  From  his  haver 
sack  he  took  a  metal  plate,  one  side  of  a  burst  canteen.  It  made  a 
small  but  splendid  griddle  and  he  set  it  on  the  coals.  Then  out  came 
a  fragment  of  bacon  and  two  pieces  of  hard- tack.  He  fried  the 
bacon,  then  crumbled  the  hard-tack  in  the  gravy  and  made  "  coosh." 
Then,  with  slow  enjoyment,  he  ate  the  bacon  and  the  coosh.  When 
the  last  atom  was  gone,  he  lifted  the  griddle,  handling  it  with  a 
thick  glove  of  leaves,  plunged  it  in  the  streamlet,  washed  it  clean, 
and  restored  it,  sun-dried,  to  his  haversack.  This  done,  he  took  out  a 
small  bag  of  tobacco  and  his  pipe,  filled  the  latter,  and  with  his  back 
against  the  hickory  began  to  smoke.  He  was  happy,  alone  with  the 


THE   STONEWALL  97 

earth  whom  he  understood.  Long  and  blond  and  strong,  the  grey 
of  his  clothing  weatherbeaten  until  it  was  like  in  hue  to  the  russet 
last  year's  leaves  on  which  he  lay,  he  looked  a  man  of  an  old-time 
tale,  Siegfried,  perhaps,  quiet  and  happy  in  the  deep,  deep  forest. 
When  the  pipe  was  empty,  he  cleaned  it  and  restored  it  to  his 
pocket.  This  done,  he  routed  out  the  side  of  the  haversack  de 
voted  to  apparel,  comb,  toothbrush,  and  —  when  he  could  get  it 
—  soap,  together  with  other  small  articles.  He  had  a  little  New 
Testament  in  which  he  conscientiously  read  at  least  once  a  week. 
Now  he  took  this  up.  Between  its  pages  lay  an  unopened  letter. 
He  uttered  an  exclamation.  It  had  come  to  him  at  Fredericksburg, 
an  hour  before  marching.  He  had  had  no  time  to  read  it  then,  and 
he  had  put  it  here.  Then  had  come  the  breaking  camp,  the  going 
ahead  —  he  could  hardly  tell  whether  he  had  forgotten  it  or  had 
simply  taken  up  the  notion  that  it  had  been  read.  He  laughed. 
"Well,  Aunt  Sairy,  it  never  happened  before!"  He  opened  it  now, 
settled  his  shoulders  squarely  against  the  hickory,  and  read  — 

"DEAR  ALLAN:  —  It's  Tom's  turn  to  write,  but  he  says  I  do  it 
because  his  hand's  took  to  shaking  so.  The  doctor  says  it's  just 
eagerness  —  he  wants  to  know  all  the  time  and  at  the  right  identical 
minute  what's  happening.  And  even  the  newspapers  don't  know 
that,  though  Lord  knows  they  think  they  do !  But  it 's  just  as  bad  to 
be  sick  with  eagerness  as  to  be  sick  with  anything  else.  It's  sickness 
just  the  same  as  if  it  was  typhoid  or  pleurisy.  Yes,  Allan,  I  'm 
anxious  enough  about  Tom,  —  though,  of  course,  I  did  n't  read  that 
out  to  him.  He's  sitting  in  the  sunshine  holding  the  toll-box,  and 
there  ain't  anything  in  it  —  and  there  never  will  be  until  you  all 
stop  this  fool  war.  The  doctor  says  —  Yes,  Tom!  .  .  .  Allan,  you 
just  straighten  this  letter  out  in  your  own  head." 

Oh,  it  straightened  out  well  enough  in  Allan's  head!  He  let  the 
hand  that  held  it  drop  upon  the  leaves,  and  he  looked  up  the  knife- 
blade  ravine  to  where  the  green  rim  of  the  mountain  touched  the 
blue.  He  saw  Thunder  Run  Mountain,  and  he  heard,  over  the  mur 
mur  of  surrounding  trees,  the  voice  of  Thunder  Run.  He  saw  with 
the  inner  eye  the  toll-house,  the  roses  and  the  pansies  and  the  bees. 
It  was  not  going  well  with  the  toll-house  —  he  knew  that.  Tom 


98  CEASE  FIRING 

failing,  and  no  toll  taken,  the  county  probably  paying  nothing.  .  .  . 
Where  was  the  money  with  which  it  could  pay?  Sairy  fighting  hard 

—  he  saw  her  slight,  bent  old  figure  —  fighting  hard  now  with  this 
end,  now  with  that,  to  make  them  meet.  He  knew  they  would  never 
meet  now,  not  while  this  war  lasted.   It  was  one  of  the  bitter  by 
products  —  that  never  meeting.   There  was  nothing  to  send  —  he 
himself  had  had  no  pay  this  long  while.    Pay,  in  the  Southern 
armies,  was  a  vanishing  quantity. 

The  wood  blurred  before  Allan's  eyes.  He  sighed  and  took  up  the 
letter  again. 

"The  school-house  is  most  fallen  down.  They  told  me  so,  and 
I  went  up  the  Run  one  evening  and  looked  at  it.  It's  so.  It 
looked  like  a  yearning  ghost.  Christianna  tried  to  teach  the  children 
awhile  this  spring,  but  Christianna  never  was  no  bookworm.  An' 
then  she  had  to  do  the  spring  ploughing,  for  Mrs.  Maydew  went 
down  into  the  Valley  to  nurse  the  smallpox  soldiers.  Mrs.  Cleave 
went,  too,  from  Three  Oaks.  I  have  n't  got  much  of  a  garden  this 
year,  but  the  potatoes  and  sparrowgrass  look  fine.  The  wrens  have 
built  again  in  the  porch.  They're  company  for  Tom,  now  that 
there's  so  little  other  company.  He's  named  the  one  Adam  and 
the  other  Eve  —  Lord  knows  they're  wiser  than  some  Adams  and 
Eves  I  know !  —  Tom 's  calling !  — 

"It  was  n't  anything.  He  thought  it  was  a  wagon  coming  up  the 
road.  If  this  war  don't  stop  soon,  some  of  us  won't  be  here  to  see  it 
stop.  And  now  he  says  if  he  just  had  a  little  something  sweet  to  eat 

—  and  there  ain't  no  sugar  nor  nothing  in  the  house! 

"Lord  sake,  Allan,  I  didn't  mean  to  write  like  this!  I  know 
you've  got  your  end  to  bear.  Tom  is  n't  really  so  sick,  and  I 'm  jest 
as  right  as  ever  I  was!  The  sun's  shining  and  the  birds  are  singing, 
and  the  yellow  cat 's  stretching  himself,  and  the  gourd  vine's  got  a 
lot  of  flowers,  and  I  bet  you  'd  like  to  hear  Thunder  Run  this  minute ! 
Steve  Dagg's  still  here  and  limping  —  when  he  thinks  anybody's 
looking.  Rest  of  the  time  he  uses  both  feet.  He's  making  up  to 
Christianna  Maydew  — " 

Allan's  hand  closed  on  the  paper.  "Steve  Dagg  making  up  to 
Christianna  Maydew !  Why  —  damn  him — "  He  was  not  a  swear- 


THE  STONEWALL  99 

ing  man,  but  he  swore  now,  rising  from  the  ground  to  do  so.  He 
did  not  pause  to  analyze  his  feeling.  A  cool-blooded,  quiet-natured 
man,  he  found  himself  suddenly  wild  with  wrath.  He  with  the  bal 
ance  of  the  Sixty-fifth  had  fully  recognized  Steve  Dagg  as  the  blot 
on  their  'scutcheon  —  but  personally,  the  blot  had  until  now  only 
amused  and  disgusted  him.  Quite  suddenly  he  found  the  earth  too 
small  for  both  Allan  Gold  and  Stephen  Dagg. 

Standing  in  the  deep  and  narrow  ravine  and  looking  upward  he 
had  a  vision.  He  saw  Thunder  Run  Mountain,  and  high  on  the 
comb  of  it,  the  log  house  of  the  Maydews.  He  saw  the  ragged 
mountain  garden  sloping  down,  and  the  ragged  mountain  field.  All 
about  was  a  kind  of  violet  mist.  It  parted  and  he  saw  Christianna 
standing  in  the  doorway. 

Allan  Gold  sat  down  upon  a  stone  beside  the  brook.  He  leaned 
forward,  his  clasped  hands  hanging  below  his  knees.  The  clear,  dark 
water  gave  him  back  his  face  and  form.  He  sat  so,  very  still,  for 
some  minutes,  then  he  drew  a  long,  long  breath.  "I  have  been,"  he 
said,  "all  kinds  of  a  fool." 

Sairy's  letter  offered  but  a  few  more  words.  He  read  them  through, 
folded  the  paper  thoughtfully  and  carefully,  and  laid  it  between  the 
leaves  of  the  Testament.  Then  he  stood  up,  carefully  extinguished 
with  his  foot  the  fire  of  leaves  and  twigs,  took  his  rifle,  and  turned  his 
face  toward  the  Shenandoah. 

Thirty-six  hours  later  found  him  waiting,  a  little  east  of 
Front  Royal,  for  the  column.  It  appeared,  winding  through  the 
woods,  Ewell  riding  at  the  head,  with  him  Jubal  Early  and  J.  B. 
Gordon.  Allan  stood  out  from  the  ferny  margin  of  the  wood  and 
saluted. 

"  Hello ! "  said  Old  Dick.  "  It 's  the  best  scout  in  the  service ! " 

Allan  gave  his  information.  "General,  I've  been  talking  to  an 
old  farmer  and  his  wife,  refugeeing  from  the  Millwood  section. 
They  believed  there  was  a  considerable  Yankee  force  at  Berry- 
ville.  So  I  went  on  for  a  few  miles,  and  got  three  small  boys  and 
sent  them  into  Berryville  on  a  report  that  there  was  a  circus  in 
town.  They  got  the  news  all  right  and  came  back  with  it.  Mc- 
Rennolds  is  there  with  something  like  fifteen  hundred  men  and  a 
considerable  amount  of  stores." 

"Is  he?"  quoth  Old  Dick.   "Then,  when  we  get  to'  Cedarville 


ioo  CEASE   FIRING 

I'll  send  somebody  to  get  that  honey  out  of  the  gum  tree!  Now  you 
go  on,  Gold,  and  get  some  more  information." 

The  column  marched  through  Front  Royal.  All  of  Front  Royal 
that  was  there  came  out  and  wept  and  laughed  and  cheered,  and 
dashed  out  to  the  ranks  to  shake  hands,  to  clasp,  to  kiss.  "  Oh,  don't 
you  remember,  little  more  'n  a  year  ago  —  and  all  the  things  that 
have  happened  since !  The  North  Fork  —  and  the  burnt  bridge  — 
and  Ashby  at  Buckton.  .  .  .  Oh,Ashby/  .  .  .  and  the  fight  with 
Kenly  —  and  the  big  charge  —  and  Stonewall  Jackson.  .  .  .  '  My 
father,  my  father,  the  chariot  of  Israel  and  the  horsemen  thereof!'" 

The  column  crossed  the  Shenandoah  and  came  to  Cedarville, 
where  it  rested  for  the  night.  Here  there  reported  to  Ewell  Jenkins's 
cavalry  brigade.  In  the  morning  Old  Dick  sent  this  body  of  horse, 
together  with  Rodes's  division,  across  country  to  Berryville  with 
instructions  to  capture  or  disperse  McRennolds's  command,  and 
then  to  press  on  to  Martinsburg.  Ewell  himself,  with  Early  and 
Edward  Johnson's  divisions,  took  the  road  that  led  by  Middletown 
and  Nineveh  to  the  Valley  Pike. 

At  Nineveh  Allan  Gold  again  appeared.  "General,  I've  been 
almost  into  Winchester.  Milroy  has  breastworks  all  around,  and 
he 's  well  off  in  artillery.  The  hills  west  and  northwest  of  the  town 
command  his  works." 

"All  right,  all  right!"  said  Ewell.  "Winchester's  going  to  see 
another  battle." 

On  the  morning  of  the  thirteenth  the  column  divided.  Edward 
Johnson,  with  Nounnan's  cavalry  force,  keeping  on  upon  the  Front 
Royal  and  Winchester  road,  while  Early's  division  struck  the 
Valley  Pike  at  Newtown. 

The  Valley  Pike!  The  Valley  soldiers  —  of  whom  there  were  a 
number  in  this  division,  though  more  in  Edward  Johnson's  —  the 
Valley  soldiers  had  last  seen  the  Valley  Pike  in  October  —  and  now 
it  was  June.  They  had  seen  it  in  a  glory  of  crimson  and  gold,  and  a 
violet  haze  of  Indian  summer,  and  then  they  had  left  it,  Stonewall 
Jackson  riding  ahead.  .  .  .  and  then  had  come  Fredericksburg  .  .  . 
and  then  had  come  the  Wilderness. 

"Howdy,  Valley  Pike!"  said  the  soldiers.  "It's  been  long  that 
we've  been  away!  Did  you  miss  us,  old  girl  ?  We've  missed  you. 
A  lot  of  us  did  n't  come  back,  but  here's  some  of  us!" 


THE  STONEWALL  :  ;«i? 


Through  the  hot  afternoon  Jubal  Early  and  his  troops  moved 
down  the  pike  toward  Winchester.  Near  Bartonsville,  in  position 
upon  a  low  hill,  they  found  the  First  Maryland  Infantry  and  the 
Baltimore  Artillery. 

Colonel  Herbert  of  the  First  reported.  "They  've  got  a  force,  sir, 
at  Kernstown,  and  a  battery  on  Pritchard's  Hill.  We've  been 
skirmishing  off  and  on  all  day." 

"All  right  1"  swore  Old  Jube.  "I'll  send  the  Louisiana  Brigade 
and  dislodge  that  battery." 

Hays  and  the  Louisianians  went,  crossing  the  meadow  and  skirt 
ing  the  ridge,  marching  where  had  marched  the  Army  of  the  Valley 
on  the  old  field  of  Kernstown.  The  blue  battery  removed  from 
Pritchard's  Hill;  they  took  that  eminence  without  difficulty.  Hays 
sent  back  tidings  of  Federal  infantry  massing  to  the  left.  Early 
ordered  Gordon  forward.  That  dashing  officer  and  brave  and 
handsome  man  swung  by  with  his  brigade.  Joining  Hays,  the  two, 
Georgia  and  Louisiana,  drove  the  blue  detachment  over  field  and 
ridge  and  Abraham's  Creek  to  Bowers's  Hill.  This,  infantry  and 
artillery,  the  blue  seized  and  held  through  the  night.  The  brigades 
of  Hoke  and  Smith  arrived,  but  it  was  twilight  and  a  drenching 
summer  rain.  The  grey  bivouacked  on  the  field  of  Kernstown. 

Dawn  came  up,  hot  and  still,  and  with  it  Old  Dick  to  confer  with 
Old  Jube.  Council  over,  Gordon  was  moved  forward,  the  Maryland 
troops  with  him,  and  left  to  skirmish  with,  amuse,  and  distract  the 
enemy.  Hays  and  Hoke  and  Smith  with  some  artillery  plunged  into 
the  woods.  "Flank  movement!"  said  the  men.  "It's  fun  to  flank 
and  it's  hell  to  be  flanked.  That's  the  road  to  Romney  over  there." 

They  came  to  the  lower  slopes  of  Little  North  Mountain,  to  the 
Pughtown  road.  On  high  ground  to  the  south  was  a  ruined  orchard 
and  a  ruined  house  called  Folk's  Old  House;  while  on  high  ground  to 
the  north  lay  a  ruined  cornfield,  part  of  Mrs.  Brieley's  land.  Both 
points  overlooked  the  fortifications.  Old  Jube  divided  Jones's 
Artillery.  Twelve  pieces  were  posted  in  the  ruined  orchard,  eight  in 
the  ruined  cornfield.  The  Fifty-seventh  North  Carolina  kept  guard 
in  the  direction  of  the  Pughtown  road,  and  Hoke  and  Smith  were 
drawn  up  in  the  rear  of  Hays.  It  was  late  in  the  day;  intensely  hot, 
and  the  men  suffering  greatly  from  thirst.  The  twenty  pieces  opened 
on  the  blue  earthworks  crowning  the  hills  in  front.  Harry  Hays  and 


'CEASE   FIRING 

the  Louisianians  moved  forward,  climbing  the  hill,  through  felled 
brushwood,  to  the  assault.  They  took  the  height  and  six  guns  upon 
it.  It  overlooked  and  commanded  the  main  works  of  the  blue,  and 
the  grey  brought  up  and  trained  the  guns.  But  the  hot  night  fell, 
and  the  soldiers  lay  on  their  arms  till  daybreak.  When  the  dawn 
came,  pink  over  the  distant  Blue  Ridge,  it  was  found  that  the  Fed 
erals  had  evacuated  all  fortifications  on  this  side  of  Winchester. 
Before  the  earth  was  well  lit,  scouts  brought  news  that  they  were 
in  retreat  upon  the  Martinsburg  Pike. 

While  on  the  thirteenth,  Early  advanced  upon  Winchester  by  the 
Valley  Pike,  Edward  Johnson's  division,  Nounnan's  cavalry  going 
ahead,  kept  to  the  Front  Royal  and  Winchester  road.  Two  miles 
from  the  town  they  made  a  line  of  battle  and  began  to  skirmish. 
There  was  a  blue  battery  upon  the  Millwood  road,  and  to  meet  it 
Carpenter's  guns  were  brought  up.  A  dozen  blue  pieces  upon  this 
side  of  Winchester  opened  fire  and  for  hours  there  went  on  a  slow 
cannonade.  On  the  morning  of  the  fourteenth  the  division  moved 
forward,  the  Stonewall  leading,  and  renewed  the  skirmishing.  In 
the  afternoon  they  heard  the  roar  of  Early's  guns. 

The  Fifth  Virginia  was  thrown  forward,  across  the  Millwood  road 
to  the  low  hills  fronting  the  town.  The  blue  held  in  some  strength 
the  scrubby  crest  of  this  ridge.  The  Fifth  had  sharp  skirmishing. 
Behind  it  came  two  companies  of  the  Sixty-fifth,  turned  a  little  to 
the  left,  and  began  sharpshooting  from  a  screen  of  pine  and  oak. 

"  Sergeant  Maydew,"  said  a  captain,  "  take  six  men  and  go  occupy 
that  scrub-oak  clump  down  there.  Watch  that  ravine  and  pick 
them  off  if  they  come  up  it." 

Billy  Maydew  and  the  six  fairly  filled  the  tuft  of  bushes  halfway 
down  the  hill.  "Jest  as  snug  as  a  bug  in  a  rug!" 

"They'll  get  it  hot  if  they  come  up  that  gully!  It's  a  beautiful  — 
what  did  Steve  use  to  call  it  ?  —  'avalanche'!" 

"I  kind  of  miss  Steve.  He  had  his  uses.  He'd  keep  up  even  a 
yaller  dog's  self-esteem.  Even  a  turkey-buzzard  could  say,  'I  am 
better  than  thou.'  Every  time  I  got  down  in  the  mouth  and  began 
to  think  of  my  sins  I  just  looked  at  Steve  and  felt  all  right." 

"  Reckon  the  army  '11  ever  get  him  again  ?  Reckon  his  sore  foot '11 
ever  get  well  ?" 

"He'd  better  not  come  back  to  the  Sixty-fifth,"  said  Sergeant 


THE   STONEWALL  103 

Billy  Maydew.  He  spoke  with  slow  emphasis.  "The  day  Steve 
Dagg  comes  back  to  the  Sixty-fifth  Billy  Maydew  air  goin'  to  be 
marched  to  the  guardhouse  for  killing  a  polecat." 

The  six  smiled,  smiled  with  grimness.  "Ef  you  do  it,  Sergeant, 
reckon  the  Sixty-fifth,  from  the  colonel  down,  '11  appear  for  you  and 
swear  you  did  a  public  service!" 

Dave  Maydew  moved  his  head  aside,  then  softly  raised  his  rifle. 
The  others  did  likewise.  There  was  a  pause  so  utter  that  they  heard 
each  other's  breathing  and  the  dry  Zrrrr  I  of  a  distant  grasshopper. 

Dave  lowered  the  rifle.  "I  see  now!  'Twa'n't  nothing  but  a 
squirrel." 

"Reckon  't  won't  do  to  shoot  him  ?  Squirrel  stew  — " 

"Don't  you  dar!"  said  Billy.  "There  air  to  be  no  firing  out  of 
this  oak  clump  ex-cept  upon  the  enemy." 

The  skirmish  line  of  the  Fifth  swept  past  them,  driving  the  blue. 
The  fighting  was  now  nearer  town;  they  knew  by  the  slight  change 
in  sound  that  there  were  houses  and  stone  walls.  The  afternoon 
wore  on,  —  hot,  hot  in  the  clump  of  bushes !  Litter  bearers  came 
by,  carrying  a  wounded  officer.  "  Colonel  of  the  Fifth  —  Colonel 
Williams.  They  came  against  our  right!  They've  got  ten  of  our 
men.  But  then  did  n't  we  drive  them!" 

Litter  and  bearers  and  escort  went  on.  "Ain't  anybody,  less'n 
it's  a  crittur  with  fur,  comin'  up  that  ravine!" 

"An  old  mooley  cow  might  come  up." 

" Where 'd  she  come  from  ?  They're  all  slaughtered  and  eaten. 
Nothing  's  left  of  anything." 

"That's  right!  Egypt  and  the  locusts  — " 

"Lieutenant  Coffin's  signalling  to  rejoin.  Reckon  Sixty-fifth's 
going  on,  too!" 

Forward!  March  ! 

Just  before  night  the  general  commanding  sent  an  order  to  Ed 
ward  Johnson.  "Move  with  three  brigades  by  right  flank  to  the 
Martinsburg  Turnpike  at  a  point  above  Winchester.  If  enemy 
evacuates,  intercept  his  retreat.  If  he  does  not,  attack  him  in  his 
fortifications  from  that  direction."  Johnson  started  at  once  with 
Steuart's  and  Nicholls's  brigades,  and  Dement's,  Raines's,  and 
Carpenter's  batteries,  Snowden  Andrews  commanding.  Their  way 
lay  across  country  on  a  dark  night,  by  the  Jordan  Springs  road. 


104  CEASE  FIRING 

The  objective  was  Stephenson's,  several  miles  above  Winchester, 
where  a  railroad  cut  hidden  by  heavy  woods  almost  touched  the 
Martinsburg  Pike.  Off  marched  Steuart  and  Nicholls  and  the 
artillery.  The  Stonewall  Brigade,  nearest  to  the  enemy,  was  ordered 
to  advance  skirmishers  to  conceal  the  movement,  and  then  to  follow 
to  Stephenson's.  There  was  some  delay  in  the  receipt  of  the  order. 
The  Stonewall  advanced  its  skirmishers,  ascertained  on  this  side  the 
position  of  the  enemy,  but  did  not  till  midnight  take  the  road  by 
which  the  two  brigades  had  gone. 

It  was  a  pitch  black  night  after  a  hot  and  harassing  day.  The 
"foot  cavalry"  marched  as  Stonewall  Jackson  had  taught  it  to 
march,  but  all  country  and  all  roads  were  now  difficult,  scarred, 
trenched,  broken,  and  torn  by  war.  This  was  like  a  dream  road, 
barred,  every  rood,  by  dream  obstacles.  The  Sixty-fifth  sighed.  It 
was  too  tired  to  make  any  other  demonstration.  In  the  hot,  close 
night  it  was  damp  with  perspiration.  The  road  was  deeply  rutted 
and  the  drying  mud  had  a  knife-like  edge.  The  shoes  of  the  Sixty- 
fifth  were  so  full  of  holes !  The  bruise  from  the  chance  stone,  the  cut 
of  the  dried  mud  helped  at  least  in  keeping  the  regiment  awake. 
The  Sixty-fifth's  eyes  were  full  of  sleep :  it  would  have  loved  —  it 
would  have  loved  to  drop  down  in  the  darkness  and  float  away  — 
float  away  to  Botetourt  and  Rockbridge  and  Bedford  .  .  .  float 
away  —  float  away,  just  into  nothingness! 

Behind  the  Stonewall  the  sky  began,  very  faintly,  to  pale.  The 
native  of  the  country  who  was  guiding  spoke  briefly.  "We're  near 
the  pike.  Stephenson's  not  far  on  the  other  side."  Down  the  dark 
line,  shadows  in  the  half  light,  rang  an  order  like  a  ghostly  echo. 
"Press  forward,  men!  Press  forward! "  The  "foot  cavalry"  made  a 
sound  in  its  throat,  then  did  its  best. 

The  east  grew  primrose,  the  rolling  country  took  form.  It  was 
now  a  haggard  country,  seamed,  burned  over,  and  ruined,  differing 
enough  from  what  it  once  had  been.  There  came  a  gleam  of  the 
Valley  Pike,  then  with  suddenness  a  heavy  sound  of  firing.  "  They  're 
attacking!  They're  attacking!"  said  the  Stonewall.  "Hurry  up 
there!  —  hurry  up  —  Double-quick  /" 

So  thick  was  the  fog  that  it  was  difficult  to  distinguish  at  any 
distance  shape  or  feature.  A  mounted  man  appeared  before  the 
head  of  the  column,  all  grey  in  grey  mist.  "It's  Captain  Douglas, 


THE   STONEWALL  105 

General,  from  General  Johnson !  The  enemy 's  evacuating  Winches 
ter.  We're  holding  the  railroad  cut  over  there,  but  they're  in 
strength  and  threaten  to  flank  us!  Ammunition's  almost  out. 
Please  come  on  as  fast  as  you  can!" 

The  Stonewall  felt  the  Valley  Pike  beneath  its  feet.  Through  the 
fog,  a  little  to  the  west  of  the  road,  they  saw  a  body  of  troops  moving 
rapidly.  In  the  enveloping  mist  the  colour  could  not  be  told.  "  Grey, 
aren't  they?  —  Can  you  see  the  flag — ?"  "No,  but  I  think 
they're  ours  — Steuart  or  Nicholls  .  .  ."  "They're  not  Steuart 
and  they  are  not  Nicholls,"  said  Thunder  Run.  "They're  blue." 

"It's  the  Yankee  flanking  body!  .  .  .  Firel" 

The  dew-drenched  hills  and  misty  woods  echoed  the  volley.  It  was 
answered  by  the  blue,  but  somewhat  scatteringly.  The  blue  were  in 
retreat,  evacuating  Winchester,  moving  toward  the  Potomac.  They 
were  willing  to  attack  the  grey  regiments  known  to  be  holding  the 
railroad  cut,  but  a  counter-attack  upon  their  own  rear  and  flank  had 
not  entered  into  their  calculations.  In  the  fog  and  in  the  smoke  it 
could  not  be  told  whether  it  was  one  grey  brigade  or  two  or  four. 
Soldiers,  grey  or  blue,  might  be  stanch  enough,  but  in  this,  as  in  all 
wars,  the  cry,  "We're  flanked!"  stirred  up  panic.  The  constitution 
ally  timid,  in  either  uniform,  were  always  expecting  to  be  flanked. 
They  often  cried  wolf  where  there  was  no  wolf.  This  morning  certain 
of  the  blue  cried  it  lustily.  And  here,  indeed,  was  the  wolf,  grey, 
gaunt,  and  yelling!  The  blue,  bent  on  flanking  the  two  brigades 
and  the  artillery  in  and  around  the  railroad  cut,  found  themselves, 
in  turn,  flanked  by  the  Stonewall  Brigade.  They  were  between 
Scylla  and  Charybdis,  and  they  broke.  There  was  a  wood.  They 
streamed  toward  it,  and  the  Stonewall  came,  yelling,  on  their  tracks. 
At  the  same  moment  at  the  railroad  cut,  Nicholls's  Louisiana  regi 
ments,  Dement's  and  Raines's  and  Carpenter's  guns,  came  into 
touch  with  and  routed  the  blue  cavalry  and  infantry  moving  to  the 
left.  The  cavalry  —  most  of  it  —  escaped,  Milroy  on  a  white  horse 
with  them.  The  infantry  were  taken  prisoner.  From  the  centre, 
where  it,  too,  was  victor,  rose  the  jubilant  yell  of  Steuart's  brigade. 

The  Stonewall  reached  the  rim  of  the  wood.  It  was  filled  with 
purple,  early  light  and  with  the  forms  of  hurrying  men.  The 
charging  line  raised  its  muskets ;  the  Stonewall's  finger  was  on  the 
trigger.  Down  an  aisle  of  trees  showed  a  white  square,  raised  and 


io6  CEASE   FIRING 

shaken  to  and  fro.  Out  of  the  violet  light  came  a  voice.  "Don't 
fire !  We  surrender ! " 

Steuart  and  Nicholls  and  the  Stonewall  and  the  artillery  took, 
above  Winchester,  twenty-three  hundred  prisoners  with  arms  and 
equipments,  one  hundred  and  seventy-five  horses,  and  eleven  stands 
of  colours.  Back  in  Winchester  and  the  surrounding  fortifications 
there  fell  into  Early's  hands  another  thousand  men  in  blue,  other 
horses,  twenty-five  pieces  of  artillery,  ammunition,  and  three  hun 
dred  loaded  wagons  and  stores.  The  remainder  of  Milroy's  com 
mand,  evacuating  the  town  early  in  the  night,  had  passed  the  dan 
ger-point  on  the  Martinsburg  Pike  in  safety.  Now  it  was  hurrying 
toward  the  Potomac,  after  it  Jenkins's  cavalry. 

"Dear  Dick  Ewell "  with  his  crutches,  Jubal  Early  with  his  eccen 
tricity,  his  profanity,  his  rough  tongue,  his  large  ability,  and  heroic 
devotion  to  the  cause  he  served,  behind  them  Hays  and  Gordon  and 
Hoke  and  Smith,  and  all  the  exultant  grey  officers,  and  all  the  exult 
ant  grey  men  passed  in  the  strengthening  sunlight  through  happy 
Winchester.  It  was  a  scarred  Winchester,  a  Winchester  worn  of 
raiment  and  thin  of  cheek,  a  Winchester  that  had  wept  of  nights 
and  in  the  daytime  had  watched,  watched  !  Sister  Anne,  Sister 
Anne,  what  do  you  see?  This  June  morning  Winchester  was 
happy  beyond  words. 

Out  on  the  Martinsburg  Pike,  Ewell  and  Early  met  Edward 
Johnson  and  his  brigadiers.  "  Rodes  is  at  Martinsburg.  His  courier 
got  to  us  across  country.  He's  taken  the  stores  at  Berryville  and 
now  at  Martinsburg, — five  pieces  of  artillery,  two  hundred  prisoners, 
six  thousand  bushels  of  grain.  The  enemy's  making  for  the  river, 
Jenkins  behind  them.  They'll  cross  at  Williamsport.  I've  sent  an 
order  to  General  Rodes  to  press  on  to  the  Potomac.  We  '11  rest  the 
men  for  two  hours  and  then  we'll  follow." 

The  next  day,  the  fifteenth  of  June,  Rodes  crossed  to  Williams- 
port  in  Maryland,  Jenkins  going  forward  to  Chambersburg.  Jubal 
Early  with  his  division  took  the  Shepherdstown  road,  threaten 
ing,  from  that  vicinity,  Harper's  Ferry.  Edward  Johnson  and  his 
division  crossed  at  Shepherdstown  and  encamped  near  the  field  of 
Sharpsburg. 

On  the  fifteenth,Longstreet  and  the  First  Corps  left  Culpeper,and 
marched  along  the  eastern  base  of  the  Blue  Ridge  toward  Ashby's 


THE   STONEWALL  107 

Gap.  At  the  same  time  A.  P.  Hill  and  the  Third  Corps  took  the  road 
for  the  Valley  already  traversed  by  Ewell  and  the  Second.  Stuart 
and  the  cavalry  moved  to  cover  Longstreet's  front.  Fighting  Joe 
Hooker  had  left  the  Rappahannock,  but  he  yet  hovered  in  Virginia, 
on  the  south  side  of  the  Potomac. 

June  seventeenth,  June  nineteenth,  June  twenty-first  saw  the 
second  tilt  of  this  month  between  Pleasanton  and  Stuart,  the  running 
cavalry  fight  through  the  Loudoun  Valley,  between  the  spurs  of  the 
Bull  Run  Mountains,  by  Middleburg  and  the  little  town  of  Aldie. 
The  tournament  was  a  brilliant  one,  with  charge  and  counter-charge, 
ambuscade,  surprise,  wheelings  here  and  wheelings  there,  pourings 
from  dark  mountain  passes,  thundering  dashes  through  villages 
quivering  with  excitement,  fighting  from  the  saddle,  fighting  dis 
mounted,  incursions  of  blue  infantry  and  artillery,  hairbreadth 
escapes,  clank  and  din  and  roll  of  drum,  dust  cloud  and  smoke 
cloud,  mad  passage  of  red-nostrilled,  riderless  horses,  appeal  of 
trumpet,  rally  and  charge.  It  was  a  three-days'  fight  to  stir  for  many 
a  year  to  come  the  blood  of  listening  youth,  but  it  was  not  a  fortun 
ate  fight  —  not  for  the  grey  South !  The  honours  of  the  joust  itself 
were  evenly  enough  divided.  Stuart  lost  five  hundred  men,  Pleasan 
ton  eight  hundred.  But  before  the  trumpets  rang  Halt !  the  blue 
horsemen  pushed  the  grey  horsemen  across  the  Loudoun  Valley  from 
Bull  Run  Mountains  to  Blue  Ridge.  In  itself  the  position  was  well 
enough.  Stuart,  jocund  as  a  summer  morning,  extricated  with  skill 
brigade  after  brigade,  plunged  with  them  into  the  dark  passes,  and, 
the  fight  drawn, presently  marched  on  to  the  Potomac.  But  Pleasan- 
ton's  patrols,  winding  upward,  came  out  upon  the  crest  of  Blue 
Ridge.  Here  they  reined  in  their  horses  and  gazed,  open-mouthed. 
Far  below,  travelling  westward,  travelling  northward  were  troops 
on  the  roads  of  the  great  Valley  —  troops  and  troops  and  troops; 
infantry,  artillery,  cavalry,  wagon  trains  and  wagon  trains.  The 
vedettes  stared.  "The  Confederacy's  moving  north!  The  Confed 
eracy  's  moving  north ! "  They  turned  their  horses  and  went  at  speed 
back  to  Pleasanton.  Pleasanton  sent  at  speed  to  Fighting  Joe 
Hooker.  Hooker  at  once  pushed  north  to  the  Potomac,  which  he 
crossed,  on  the  twenty-fifth,  at  Edwards's  Ferry. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  BULLETIN 

Miss  LUCY  opened  the  paper  with  trembling  fingers.  "'A 
great  cavalry  fight  at  Brandy  Station!  General  Lee's  tele 
gram.  Killed  and  wounded. ' "  Her  three  nieces  came  close 
to  her.  "It 'snot  a  long  bulletin.  .  .  .  Thank  God,  there's  no  Gary!" 

She  brushed  her  hand  across  her  eyes,  and  read  on.  "We  have 
few  particulars  as  yet.  The  fighting  was  severe  and  lasted  all  day. 
The  loss  on  both  sides  is  heavy.  Our  loss  in  officers  was,  as  usual, 
very  considerable.  Among  those  killed  we  have  heard  the  names  of 
Colonel  Hampton,  brother  of  General  Wade  Hampton.  Colonel 
John  S.  Green,  of  Rappahannock  County,  and  Colonel  Williams, 
of  the  Eighteenth  North  Carolina.  The  latter  was  married  only  one 
week  ago.  General  W.  H.  F.  Lee,  son  of  General  Lee,  was  shot 
through  the  thigh.  Colonel  Butler,  of  South  Carolina,  is  reported 
to  have  lost  a  leg.  From  the  meagre  accounts  we  already  have  we 
are  led  to  conclude  that  the  fight  of  Tuesday  was  one  of  the  heavi 
est  cavalry  battles  that  has  occurred  during  the  war,  and  perhaps 
the  severest  ever  fought  in  this  country."  . 

Molly  drew  a  long  breath.  "Let's  turn  the  sheet,  Aunt  Lucy,  and 
look  for  Vicksburg." 

"A  moment!"  said  Judith.  "I  saw  the  word 'artillery.7  What 
does  it  say  about  the  horse  artillery  ?  " 

"Just  that  it  made  a  brilliant  fight.  A  few  casualties  —  there  are 
the  names." 

Judith  bent  over  and  read.  "You  always  want  to  know  about 
the  horse  artillery,"  said  Molly.  "I  want  to  know  about  everybody, 
too,  but  until  you  Ve  heard  about  the  artillery  your  eyes  are  wide 
and  startled  as  a  fawn's.  Is  there  somebody  whom  you  like  — " 

"Don't,  Molly!"  spoke  Miss  Lucy.  "Don't  we  all  want  to  know 
about  every  arm  ?  God  knows,  it  is  n't  just  our  kith  and  kin  for 
whom  we  ache!" 

"Of  course  not!"  said  Molly.  "I  just  wanted  to  know  — " 


THE  BULLETIN  109 

Judith  looked  up,  steady-eyed  again.  "So  did  I,  Molly!  I  just 
wanted  to  know.  The  paper  says  it  was  a  brilliant  fight,  and  every 
body  did  well  —  those  who  Ve  ridden  on,  and  those  who  are  lying 
on  the  leaves  in  the  woods.  And  it  gives  the  names  of  those  who  are 
lying  there,  and  we  don't  know  them  —  only  that  they  are  names  of 
our  brothers.  Vicksburg,  read  about  Vicksburg,  Aunt  Lucy!" 

Miss  Lucy  read.  "We  have  received  the  Jackson  Mississippian  as 
late  as  the  twenty-seventh,  since  when  there  has  been  no  reliable  in 
formation  from  the  besieged  city.  We  have,  however,  from  prison 
ers,  Northern  papers  as  late  as  June  the  first.  We  quote  from  them. 

"'Washington,  June  first.  Midnight.  Up  to  one  o'clock  to-night  no 
additional  intelligence  had  been  received  from  General  Grant's  army 
later  than  the  previous  dispatches  of  the  twenty-eighth,  when  it  was  stated 
that  Grant's  forces  were  progressing  as  favourably  as  could  be  expected, 
and  Grant  had  no  fears  of  the  result. ' " 

"Well,  I  hope  that  he  may  yet  acquire  them,"  said  Unity. 

" '  Chicago,  June  first.  A  special  dispatch  to  the  Times  dated)  "Head 
quarters  in  the  Field.  Near  Vicksburg.  May  twenty-third,"  says,  "But 
little  has  been  effected  during  the  last  thirty-six  hours.  Over  a  hundred 
pieces  of  field  artillery  and  several  siege  guns  rained  shot  and  shell  on 
the  rebels'  works  yesterday.  The  mortar  fleet  took  position  behind  De 
Soto  Point  and  bombarded  the  city  during  the  entire  day"'" 

"Oh,"  cried  Molly.   "Oh!" 

"  'On  the  right  General  Sherman  has  pushed  Steele's  division  squarely 
to  the  foot  of  the  parapets.  Our  men  lay  in  a  ditch  and  on  the  slope  of  a 
parapet,  inside  one  of  the  principal  forts,  unable  to  take  it  by  storm,  but 
determined  not  to  retire.  The  Federal  and  Rebel  soldiers  are  not  twenty- 
five  feet  apart,  but  both  are  powerless  to  inflict  much  harm.  Each 
watches  the  other  and  dozens  of  muskets  are  fired  as  soon  as  a  soldier 
exposes  himself  above  the  works  on  either  side — '" 

"Oh,  I  hope  that  Edward  thinks  of  Desiree  and  all  of  us!" 

"If  there's  need  to  expose  himself  he  will  do  it  —  and  Desiree 
and  none  of  us  would  say,  'Think  of  us!'  —  Go  on,  Aunt  Lucy." 

"' Nearly  the  same  condition  of  things  exists  in  McP  her  son's  front, 
and  his  sharpshooters  prevent  the  working  of  the  enemy's  pieces  in  one  or 
two  forts.  A  charge  was  made  yesterday  (Friday)  morning  on  one  of 
them  by  Stephenson's  brigade,  but  was  repulsed.  Two  companies  of  one 
brigade  got  inside,  but  most  of  them  were  captured.  The  forts  are  all 


no  CEASE   FIRING 

filled  with  infantry.  Our  artillery  has  dismounted  a  few  guns  and  dam 
aged  the  works  in  some  places,  but  they  are  still  strong  — '" 

"O  may  they  stay  so!" 

"( General  Joe  Johnston  is  reported  to  be  near  the  Big  Black  River  in 
our  rear,  with  reinforcements  for  the  besieged  army.  General  Grant 
can  detail  men  enough  for  the  operations  here  to  keep  Johnston  in 
check.'" 

"Oh,  always  their  many,  many  troops!" 

"'  General  McClernand  was  hard  pressed  on  the  left  yesterday,  and 
sent  for  reinforcements.  General  Quinby's  division  went  to  his  assistance 
at  four  o'clock.  The  contest  continued  until  one  of  our  flags  was  planted 
at  the  foot  of  the  earthworks  on  the  outside  of  a  rebel  fort,  and  kept  there 
for  several  hours,  but  the  fort  was  not  taken:  " 

" Thank  God!" 

111  McClernand' s  loss  yesterday  is  estimated  at  one  thousand  killed 
and  wounded.  The  fighting  grows  more  desperate  each  day.  The  trans 
ports  are  now  bringing  supplies  to  within  three  miles  of  our  right:  " 

The  group  on  the  Greenwood  porch  kept  silence,  then  "What 
from  Tennessee  ?  " 

"{A  cavalry  fight  at  Franklin.  Infantry  not  engaged.  A  general 
battle  is,  however,  considered  imminent:" 

Molly  put  her  head  down  in  Judith's  lap  and  began  to  cry.  "Oh, 
I  want  to  see  father!  Oh,  I  want  to  see  father!  Oh,  I  miss  him  so!" 

Unity  knit  very  fast.  Miss  Lucy  sat,  the  paper  fallen  beside  her, 
her  fine,  dark  eyes  on  the  distant  mountains.  She  saw  the  old, 
peaceful,  early-century  years  again,  and  her  brothers  and  herself, 
children  again,  playing  in  the  garden  at  Fontenoy,  playing  in  the 
garden  here  at  Greenwood,  going  into  town  in  the  great  old  coach, 
watching  Mr.  Jefferson  pass  and  Mr.  Madison.  She  saw  her 
brilliant  girlhood  set  still  in  so  shining,  so  peaceful  a  world !  .  .  . 
The  old  White  and  her  ball-gowns,  and  the  roses  and  serenading.  .  . . 
The  leisurely  progresses,  too,  from  great  house  to  great  house,  and 
all  in  a  golden,  tranquil  world.  She  saw  her  beautiful  father  and 
mother  and  a  certain  lover  whom  she  had  had,  and  her  brothers 
wonderful  and  gallant.  And  now  the  first  three  were  dead,  and 
long  dead,  and  Warwick  was  with  Lee  at  Culpeper,  and  Fau- 
quier,  yesterday  in  "the  severest  cavalry  battle  yet  fought  on 
this  continent,"  and  Warwick's  son,  Edward,  fighting  in  a  city 


THE   BULLETIN  in 

besieged!  Everywhere  kinsmen  and  friends,  fighting!  And  the 
gaunt  and  ruined  country,  the  burning  houses  and  the  turned- 
out  fields,  the  growing  hunger,  want  no  longer  skulking,  but  walking 
all  the  highroads,  care  and  wounds  and  sickness,  a  chill  at  all  hearts 
and  a  lessening  of  the  sunlight!  "I  have  lived  out  of  a  gold  world 
into  an  iron  one,"  thought  Miss  Lucy. 

The  old  Greenwood  carriage  came  round  to  the  door.  Judith 
kissed  Molly  and  rose,  Unity  with  her.  It  was  their  day  at  the  hos 
pital.  Isham  took  them  into  town,  Isham  thin  and  sorrowful,  driv 
ing  the  old  farm-horses,  muttering  and  mumbling  of  old  times  and 
new.  The  day  was  hard  at  the  hospital,  though  not  so  hard  as  there 
had  been  days.  Soldiers  from  the  Wilderness  still  choked  the  rooms, 
and  there  was  sickness,  sickness,  sickness !  —  and  so  little  with 
which  to  cope  with  sickness.  But  it  was  not  so  crowded  as  it  had 
been,  nor  so  desperate.  Many  hai  died,  and  many  had  grown  well 
enough  to  go  away,  and  many  were  convalescent.  There  were  only 
fifty  or  so  very  bad.  The  two  young  women,  straight  and  steady, 
bright  and  tender,  came  into  a  long  ward  like  twin  shafts  of  sun 
light. 

The  ward  wanted  all  the  news  about  Brandy  Station  it  could  get, 
and  a4J  the  news  about  Port  Hudson  and  Vicksburg.  Cavalry  in  the 
ward  got  into  an  argument  with  Artillery,  and  Infantry  had  to  call 
the  nurses  to  smooth  things  down.  A  man  whose  arm  had  been  torn 
from  the  socket  fell  to  crying  softly  because  there  was  a  piece  of 
shell,  he  said,  between  the  fingers  and  he  could  not  get  it  out. 

'"  Nerve  ends  ?'  —  Yes,  Doctor,  maybe  so.  .  .  .  Then,  don't  you 
reckon  the  nerve  ends  in  my  arm  out  there  in  the  Wilderness  are 
feeling  for  my  shoulder  ?  Oh,  I  feel  them  feeling  for  it!" 

Down  the  line  was  a  jolly  fellow  and  he  sang  very  loudly  — 

"Yankee  Doodle  had  a  mind  ' 

To  whip  the  Southern  traitors, 
Because  they  did  n't  choose  to  live 

On  codfish  and  potatoes! 
Yankee  Doodle,  doodle-doo, 

Yankee  Doodle  dandy—" 

Some  of  the  soldiers  from  the  Wilderness,  falling  wounded  in  the 
brush  which  was  set  on  fire,  had  been  badly  burned  before  their 
comrades  could  draw  them  forth.  One  of  these  now,  lying  wrapped 


ii2  CEASE   FIRING 

like  a  mummy  in  oil-soaked  cotton,  was  begging  pitifully  for  mor 
phia  —  and  there  was  no  morphia  to  give. 

"I  come  from  old  Manassas  with  a  pocket  full  of  fun; 
I  killed  forty  Yankees  with  a  single-barrelled  gun  — " 

Forenoon,  afternoon  passed.  The  nurses  dressed  and  bandaged 
wounds,  bathed  and  lifted,  gave  the  scanty  dole  of  medicines, 
brought  and  held  the  bowls  of  broth,  aired  the  wards,  straightened 
the  beds,  told  the  news,  filled  the  pipes,  read  and  wrote  the  home 
letters,  took  from  dying  lips  the  home  messages,  closed  the  eyes  of 
the  dead,  composed  the  limbs,  saw  the  body  carried  out  to  where  the 
pine  coffin  waited,  turned  back  with  cheer  to  the  ward,  dealt  the 
cards  for  the  convalescent,  picked  up  the  fallen  checker-piece, 
laughed  at  all  jokes,  helped  sick  and  weary  Life  over  many  a  hard 
place  in  the  road,  saved  it  many  a  jolt. 

At  six  o'clock,  the  two  from  Greenwood  left  the  hospital.  Out 
side  they  saw,  on  the  other  side  of  the  street,  a  small  crowd  gathering 
about  a  bulletin  board.  They  went  across  as  folk  always  went  across 
when  there  was  seen  to  be  a  bulletin.  The  crowd  was  largely  com 
posed  of  country  people,  old  men,  women,  and  boys.  It  parted  be 
fore  the  ladies  from  Greenwood  and  the  two  came  close  to  the  board. 
A  boy,  standing  on  a  great  stone  beneath,  alternately  mastered, 
somewhat  slowly,  the  writing,  then,  facing  around,  delivered  it  in  a 
high  young  voice  to  the  crowd. 

A  farmer,  bent  and  old,  touched  Judith's  sleeve.  "Miss  Judith 
Gary,  you  read  it  to  us.  I  could  do  it  spryer  than  Tom  there,  but  my 
eyes  are  mighty  bad." 

''I  don't  mind,"  said  Tom.  "They've  got  so  many  words  that 
were  n't  in  the  reading-books!  You  do  it,  Miss  Judith." 

Judith  stepped  upon  the  stone.  The  board  held  an  account  of  the 
battle  of  Brandy  Station,  later  and  fuller  than  that  in  the  morning 
paper.  She  read  first  —  it  was  always  read  first  —  the  names  of 
the  killed  and  wounded.  It  appeared  that  this  crowd  had  in  them 
only  a  general  interest.  There  were  murmurs  respectful  and  pitying, 
but  no  sudden  sharp  cry  from  a  woman,  no  groan  from  a  man. 

"Further  particulars  of  the  fight,"  read  Judith.  "The  enemy 
attacked  at  daybreak.  They  had  with  them  artillery  with  which 
they  proceeded  furiously  to  shell  General  Stuart's  headquarters. 


THE  BULLETIN  113 

The  cavalry  fighting  was  desperate  and  the  loss  on  both  sides  heavy. 
We  had  only  cavalry  and  the  artillery  in  action,  the  enemy  having 
retreated  before  our  infantry  arrived.  The  fight  lasted  all  day  and 
was  conducted  vvith  extreme  gallantry.  Many  individual  acts  of 
heroism  occurred  both  among  officers  and  men.  The  horse  artillery 
gathered  fresh  laurels.  The  spirit  of  Pelham  stays  with  it.  A  gunner 
named  Deaderick  — 

" —  A  gunner  named  Deaderick,  a  strongly  built  man,  held  at  bay 
a  dozen  of  the  enemy  who  would  have  laid  hands  upon  his  gun  which 
had  been  dismounted  by  a  shell  striking  the  wheel.  Almost  singly 
he  kept  the  rush  back  until  his  comrades  could  replace  the  gun, 
train,  and  serve  it,  when  the  attack  was  completely  repulsed  and 
the  gun  saved  — 

Judith  finished  reading.  The  crowd  thanked  her.  She  stepped 
from  the  great  stone  and  passed  with  Unity  to  where  the  carriage 
waited.  Isham  touched  the  old  farm-horses;  they  passed  out  of  the 
town  into  the  June  country  bathed  in  sunset  light. 

For  a  while  there  was  silence,  then,  "Judith,"  said  Unity,  "I  am  a 
talkative  wretch,  I  know,  but  I  can  be  silent  as  the  grave  when  I 
want  to  be!  Where  is  Richard  ?  Is  he  in  the  horse  artillery  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"I  have  never  seen  you  when  I  did  not  think  you  beautiful.  But 
back  there,  standing  on  that  stone,  of  a  sudden  you  were  most  beau 
tiful.  It  was  like  a  star  blazing  out,  a  star  with  a  voice,  and  some 
thing  splendid  in  that,  too.  Judith,  is  he  that  gunner  you  were  read 
ing  about?" 

"Yes  — oh,  yes!" 

"Well,  you  don't  often  cry,"  said  Unity,  crying  herself.  "Cry  it 
out,  my  dear,  cry  it  out.  We  have  such  splendid  things  nowadays 
to  cry  for ! "  l 

Judith  dried  her  tears.  "No,  I  don't  often  cry.  .  .  .  Let  it  rest, 
Unity,  between  us,  silent,  silent  — 

That  night,  at  Greenwood,  she  opened  wide  the  windows  of  her 
room,  till  the  moonlight  flooded  all  the  floor.  She  sat  in  the  window 
seat,  in  the  heart  of  the  silver  radiance,  her  hands  clasped  upon  her 
knees,  her  head  thrown  back  against  the  wood.  Before  her  lay  the 
silver  hills;  up  to  her  came  the  breath  of  the  garden  lilies.  She  sat 
with  wide,  unseeing  eyes;  the  mind  exercising  its  own  vision.  It 


n4  CEASE   FIRING 

gazed  upon  the  bivouac  of  the  horse  artillery;  it  saw  the  two  days 
ago  battle;  and  it  saw  to-morrow's  march.  It  saw  the  moving  guns, 
and  heard  the  rumbling  of  them;  saw  the  column  of  horse  and  heard 
the  tread,  marched  side  by  side  with  that  gunner  of  the  horse  artil 
lery.  Mists  arose  and  blurred.  There  was  a  transition.  Judith's 
mind  left  the  South.  It  travelled  under  Northern  skies;  it  sought 
out  and  entered  Northern  prisons.  It  saw  Maury  Stafford;  saw  him 
walking,  walking,  a  stockaded  yard,  or  standing,  standing,  before  a 
barred  window,  looking  out,  looking  up  to  the  stars  that  shone 
over  Virginia.  .  .  .  The  prisons,  the  prisons,  North  and  South,  the 
prisons!  Judith  fell  to  shuddering.  "O  God  —  O  God!  Even  our 
enemy  —  show  him  mercy!" 

Off  in  the  distance  a  whip-poor-will  was  calling.  The  sound  was 
ineffably  mournful;  the  whole  night  saddened  and  saddened.  The 
odour  of  the  lilies  laid  waxen  fingers  upon  the  heart.  The  high,  bare 
sky  was  worse  than  a  vault  hung  with  clouds.  The  light  wind  came 
like  the  sigh  of  an  overladen  heart.  Judith  moved,  sank  forward  on 
the  window  seat,  and  wept. 


CHAPTER  XI 

PRISON   X 

THE  stockade  enclosed  a  half-acre  of  bare  earth,  trodden  hard. 
The  prison  was  a  huge  old  brick  building  with  a  few  narrow, 
grated  windows.  It  had  been  built  to  store  the  inanimate, 
and  now  it  was  crowded  with  the  animate.  The  inanimate  made 
few  demands  save  those  of  space  and  security.  The  animate  might 
demand,  but  they  did  not  receive.  They  had  space  —  after  all,  each 
prisoner  could  move  a  very  little  way  without  jostling  another  pris 
oner  —  and  they  were  kept  securely.  The  gratings  were  thick,  the 
guards  were  many,  the  stockade  was  high,  and  there  was  a  Dead 
Line.  As  for  other  requests,  for  light  and  air  and  an  approach  to 
sanitation,  for  a  little  privacy,  for  less  musty  food  and  more  of  it, 
for  better  water,  for  utensils  and  bedding  —  the  inanimate  had 
made  no  such  requests,  and  the  animate  requested  in  vain.  What 
had  been  good  enough  for  good  Northern  manufactured  goods  was 
good  enough  for  Southern  rebels.  Everybody  knew  that  Northern 
prisoners  were  starving,  dying  in  Southern  prisons.  '"Exchange, 
then!'  Well,  I  kind  of  wish  myself  that  we'd  exchange." 

There  were  three  floors  in  the  prison,  and  a  number  of  partitions 
had  been  driven  across  the  large,  echoing  shell.  Officers'  quarters 
were  the  first  floor,  and  officers'  quarters  were  rudely  divided  into  a 
hot,  dark,  evil-smelling  central  hall,  and  a  number  of  hot,  narrow, 
close,  and  poorly-lighted  rooms  in  which  to  sleep  and  wake.  Hall 
and  rooms  were  hot  because  it  was  warm  summer-time,  and  they 
were  so  crowded,  and  there  was  admitted  so  little  air.  In  the  winter 
time  they  were  cold,  cold !  The  prisoners  who  had  been  here  longest 
had  tried  both  elements;  in  the  winter- time  they  pined  for  summer 
and  in  the  summer-time  they  longed  for  winter.  This  building  was 
but  one  of  several  warehouses  converted  into  places  of  storage  for 
the  animate.  There  were,  in  all,  in  this  place,  twelve  hundred  Con 
federate  officers  and  six  thousand  Confederate  privates. 

Twilight  was  the  worst  time.  Earlier  there  was  all  the  sunshine 


n6  CEASE   FIRING 

that  could  enter  the  small  windows,  and  once  a  day  there  was  exer 
cise  in  the  small  sunbaked  yard.  As  soon  as  it  was  totally  dark  a  few 
smoky  lamps  were  lighted  and  for  an  hour  there  was  "recreation" 
in  the  various  central  halls.  But  twilight  —  twilight  was  bad!  It  was 
the  hopeless  hour,  the  hour  of  home  visions,  the  hour  of  longing,  the 
hour  of  nostalgia.  It  was  the  hour  when  men  could  and  did  weep 
in  shadowy  places.  The  star  that  twinkled  through  the  window 
mocked,  and  the  breeze  from  the  south  mocked.  The  bats  that 
wheeled  above  the  prison  yard  were  Despondency's  imps.  Melan 
choly  had  free  entrance;  she  could  and  did  pass  the  sentries.  Hope 
deferred  was  always  there.  At  twilight  all  hearts  sickened. 

With  the  smoky  lamps  came,  on  the  part  of  most,  —  not  of  all, 
but  of  most,  —  a  deliberate  taking-up  again  of  life,  even  of  prison 
life.  Heroism  reentered  the  weary  prison.  Courage  and  cheerfulness 
took  the  stage,  the  first  a  grim  and  steadfast  warrior,  the  last  fals 
etto  enough  at  times,  and  then  again  suddenly,  divinely  genuine. 
At  times  there  were  brisk  gaiety,  unfeigned  laughter,  a  quite  rollick 
ing  joviality.  Twilight  was  over  —  twilight  was  over  for  this 
time! 

Supper  was  over,  too,  —  soon  over!  A  small  cake  of  meal,  more  or 
less  musty,  a  bit  of  "  salt  horse, "  —  the  meal  was  not  prolonged.  It 
was  brought  into  the  hall  in  a  great  kettle  and  sundry  pans.  The 
prisoners  had  each  a  tin  plate,  with  an  ancient  knife  and  fork.  There 
was  no  table;  they  sat  on  benches  or  old  boxes,  or  tailor  fashion  on 
the  floor.  They  had  a  way  of  pleasing  their  fancies  with  elaborate 
menus  —  like  the  Barmecide  in  the  "Arabian  Nights."  Only  the 
menus  never,  never  materialized!  To-night,  in  a  mess  of  thirty,  a 
colonel  of  A.  P.  Hill's,  captured  at  Fredericksburg,  laid  out  the 
table.  "Mountain  mutton,  gentlemen,  raised  in  Hampshire!  Del 
icately  broiled,  served  with  watercress.  No  man  must  take  less  than 
two  helpings!  Brook  trout,  likewise,  speckled  beauties,  taken  this 
afternoon !  There  was  a  pool  and  a  waterfall  and  some  birch  trees, 
and  I  went  in  swimming.  Light  rolls,  gentlemen,  and  wheat  muffins, 
and,  I  think,  waffles!  Coffee,  gentlemen,  —  don't  cheer!  —  Mocha, 
with  sugar.  The  urn  full  and  plenty  more  in  the  kitchen.  Something 
green,  gentlemen,  —  lettuce,  I  think,  with  cucumber  and  onion 
sliced  thin  and  a  little  oil  and  vinegar.  —  Don't  cheer!  This  mess  has 
all  the  early  vegetables  and  all  the  garden  fruit  it  needs,  and  is  not 


PRISON   X  117 

scorbutic!  —  Gentlemen,  a  dessert  will  follow  —  a  little  trifling  jelly 
or  cream,  and  I  think  a  dish  of  raspberries." 

The  "salt  horse"  was  eaten,  the  thin  cake  of  old,  old  meal,  the 
small  and  watery  potato  apiece.  The  mess  arose.  "For  what  we 
have  received  may  one  day  the  enemy  be  thankful!  Amen!" 

It  was  a  festal  night.  They  had  a  prison  paper  —  The  Pen  — 
issued  once  a  week.  Foolscap  paper  was  at  a  premium  as  was  pen 
and  ink.  Therefore  there  was  but  one  copy.  It  was  read  on  Monday 
night  by  the  gathering  in  division  such  and  such  a  number.  Tuesday 
night  it  passed  to  another  division  and  another  social  hour.  Wednes 
day  night  to  another,  and  so  on.  The  privates  had  their  paper,  too, 
and  late  in  the  week  there  were  exchanges.  This  was  Monday  night 
and  the  hall  of  the  editorial  staff. 

The  smoky  lamps  burned  dim  in  the  close  and  heated  air.  At 
times  these  officers  were  able  to  secure  tobacco  for  those  who 
smoked,  but  more  often  not.  This  present  week  it  was  not,  and  the 
hall  missed  this  disinfectant.  There  were  a  few  long  benches,  a 
dozen  stools,  some  boxes  and  barrels.  Those  who  could  not  find 
seats  sat  on  the  floor,  or  lounged  against  the  darkened  walls.  They 
had  a  table  beneath  one  of  the  lamps,  and  a  space  was  kept  clear  for 
the  performers  of  the  evening.  There  was  to  be  a  debate  and  other 
features. 

The  chairman  of  the  evening  arose.  "Gentlemen,  we  will  open 
as  usual  with  Dixie  —  " 

"I  wish  I  was  in  de  land  of  cotton, 
Old  times  dar  am  not  forgotten! 

Look  away,  look  away,  look  away,  Dixie  Land  I 
In  Dixie  Land,  whar  I  was  born  in, 
Early  on  one  frosty  morning, 

Look  away,  look  away,  look  away,  Dixie  Land! 
Den  I  wish  I  was  in  Dixie, 

Hooray,  hooray! 

In  Dixie  Land  I  '11  take  my  stand, 
To  live  an'  die  in  Dixie! 

Away,  away,  away  down  South  in  Dixie; 

Away,  away,  away  down  South  in  Dixie  — " 

Two  hundred  men  sang  it  loudly.  Bearded,  gaunt,  unkempt,  large- 
eyed,  in  unsoldierly  rags,  they  stood  and  sang  Dixie  —  sang  it 
fiercely,  with  all  their  pent  power,  with  all  their  wild  longing.  It 
rolled  and  echoed  through  the  building;  it  seemed  to  beat  with 


n8  CEASE  FIRING 

violence  at  the  walls,  so  that  it  might  get  out  beneath  the  stars.  It 
died  at  last.  The  prisoners  in  Division  3  turned  again  to  the  chair 
man.  "Gentlemen,  the  editors  of  The  Pen  crave  your  indulgence. 
The  latest  news  by  grapevine  and  underground  is  just  in!  The 
presses  are  working  overtime  in  order  that  presently  it  may  be 
served  to  you  hot  — " 

"The  War  is  over !" 

"We  are  to  be  exchanged !" 

"England  has  declared  —  " 

"We  have  met  the  enemy  and  he  is  ours!" 

"We  have  received  a  consignment  of  tobacco." 

"The  rats  have  cried  Hold,  enough!  A  signal  victory  has  been 
achieved — " 

" No;  the  bedbugs—  " 

"The  commandant  has  been  called  up  higher." 

"Is  —  is  it  an  exchange  ?" 

The  chairman  put  that  hope  out  with  prompt  kindness.  "No, 
no,  Captain !  I  wish  it  were.  That  would  be  the  next  best  thing  to 
news  of  a  big  victory,  would  n't  it!  But,  see,  they  approach!  Way 
for  the  noble  editors!  Way  for  The  Pen  that  has  —  ahem!  —  swal 
lowed  the  sword!" 

The  Junior  Editor,  having  the  biggest  voice  and  being  used  to 
commanding  Partisan  Rangers,  was  the  chosen  reader.  He  stood 
forward.  "Gentlemen,  let  me  have  your  attention!  —  Can't  that 
lamp  be  turned  up  ?  —  Thank  you,  Colonel! 

THE   PEN 

Light  (mental)  and  Liberty  (To  the  Dead  Line) 

VOL.  i.  No.  20. 

PRISON  X.  JUNE  — ,  1863 

IMPORTANT   NEWS 

Received  by  Grapevine,  and  confirmed  by  Fresh  Fish 

"General  Lee  is  thought  to  be  moving  northward  — " 
"Yaaaih!  Yaaaaaihhh!  Yaaaaihl"  ,  . 

"He  has  certainly  left  the  Rappahannock.  Ewell  has  been  ob- 


PRISON   X  119 

served  moving  toward  the  Valley,  probably  with  the  intention  of 
falling  on  Milroy  at  Winchester  — " 

"  Yaaaihhhh  I  Yaaaaaihhh  !  —  " 

" —  and  crossing  the  Potomac  at  Williamsport.  Longstreet  and 
A.  P.  Hill  are  in  motion  — " 

"Yaaaih!  Old  Pete!   Yaaaih!  A.  P.  Hill!" 

"If  General  Lee  crosses  the  Potomac,  surely  all  will  be  well.  We 
trust  in  God  that  it's  true." 

"Amen,"  said  the  prisoners.   "Amen,  amen!" 

The  reader  turned  the  page. 

"Underground  and  Fresh  Fish  alike  confirm  our  assurance  that 
Vicksburg  is  NOT  fallen!  There  is  a  rumour  that  provisions  are 
becoming  exhausted  and  that  in  Vicksburg,  too,  rats  are  speared. 
The  Editors  of  THE  PEN  heartily  wish  that  we  might  send  a  grape 
vine  to  the  beleaguered  city,  '  Nothing  is,  but  only  thinking  makes 
it  so.'  Think  of  your  rat  in  terms  of  grace  and  you  will  find  him  good 
as  squirrel." 

"The  above  items  exhaust  the  news  of  the  outer  world.  THE  PEN 
turns  to  the  world  around  which  runs  the  Dead  Line.  Incense  first 
to  the  Muses!  Lieutenant  Lamar,  -  —  th  Georgia,  favours  us  as 
follows :  — 

"Oh,  were  I  a  boy  in  Georgia, 

As  now  I  am  a  man  in  Hell, 
I  would  haste  to  the  old  school-house 
With  the  ringing  of  the  bell! 

"Oh,  were  I  a  boy  in  Georgia 

As  now  I  am  a  man  in  jail, 
To  go  to  church  on  Sunday, 
Be  sure  I  would  not  fail! 

"Oh,  were  I  a  boy  in  Georgia, 

As  now  I  am  a  man  in  chains, 
I'd  not  take  the  eggs  from  the  bird-nests, 
Nor  apples  from  old  man  Hainesl 

"Oh,  were  I  a  boy  in  Georgia, 

As  now  I  am  a  man  in  quod, 

I'd  be  a  better  son  to  my  mother, 

Ere  she  lay  beneath  the  sod!" 

"In  another  vein  Colonel  Brown,  th  Kentucky,  contrib 
utes: — 


120  CEASE   FIRING 

Air.  Within  a  mile  of  Edinboro'  Town* 
"  'T  was  a  mile  within  the  Wilderness  green, 

In  the  rosy  time  of  the  year; 
Artillery  boomed  and  the  fight  was  keen, 
And  many  men  found  their  bier. 

There  Marse  Robert,  grey  and  great, 
Struck  Joe  Hooker,  sure  as  fate! 

The  Yankee  blenched  and  answering  cried,  'No,  no,  it  will  not  dol 
I  cannot,  cannot,  winnot,  winnot,  munnot  lose  this  battle  too!' 

"Stonewall  had  a  way  of  falling  from  the  blue, 

From  the  blue  and  on  the  blue  as  well! 
Their  right  he  crumpled  up  and  many  he  slew, 
And  came  on  their  centre  like  — ! 

Stonewall  Jackson,  great  and  grey, 
Fought  Joe  Hooker  on  this  day! 

Yet  Hooker,  fighting,  frowned  and  cried,  'No,  no,  it  will  not  do! 
I  cannot,  cannot,  winnot,  winnot,  munnot  lose  this  battle  too!' 

"Stuart  shook  his  feather  and  hummed  a  merry  tune, 

Then  swung  the  A.  N.  V.  with  might! 
He  struck  Joe  Hooker  the  crown  aboon, 
And  put  the  blue  army  to  flight! 

Oh,  Jeb  Stuart,  blithe  and  gay, 
Beat  Joe  Hooker  night  and  day! 

And  Hooker,  fleeing,  no  more  frowned  and  cried,  'No,  no,  it  will  not  do! 
I  cannot,  cannot,  winnot,  winnot,  munnot  lose  this  battle  too!'" 

"  We  pass  from  the  service  of  the  Muses  to  our  editorial  of  the  day. 
PUBLIC  IMPROVEMENTS  AND  THE  CONDITION  OF  TRADE  WITH  A 
GLANCE  AT  THE  PREDICAMENT  OF  THE  UNEMPLOYED." 

The  really  able  editorial  was  read  at  length.  As  it  had  the  quality 
of  being  applicable  as  well  as  dogmatic,  as  indeed  it  accurately 
portrayed  the  conditions  and  beliefs  of  all  present,  it  received 
full  attention  and  unanimous  applause. 

The  reader  bowed  his  thanks.  "Gentlemen,  in  all  our  career,  we 
have  been  actuated  by  one  sole  ambition,  and  that  ambition,  gentle 
men,  was  to  become  without  any  reservation,  the  Voice  of  the 
People!  To-night  that  ambition  is  realized.  We  see  that  we  are  IT 
—  and  we  thank  you,  gentlemen,  —  we  thank  you!  We  will  now 
pass  to  the  Standing  Committees  and  their  reports.  On  Finance; 
on  Sick  and  Destitute;  on  State  of  the  Church;  on  Public  Education; 
on  Cleanliness;  on  the  Fine  Arts;  on  Amusements  — " 

After  reports  of  committees  came  a  page  of  advertisements. 

"A  STITCH  IN  TIME  SAVES  NINE.  — Bring  your  rips 


PRISON   X  121 

and  rents  to  Captains  Carter  and  Davenport,  Division  10.  Entire 
satisfaction  given.  Charges  moderate. 

"  INSTRUCTION  IN  ORATORY,  and  PARLOUR  ACCOM 
PLISHMENTS.  Reginald  De  Launay,  Division  13.  I  was  once  on 
the  stage. 

"INSTRUCTION  ON  THE  BANJO.  (First  get  your  banjo.) 
John  Paul,  Lt. th  Alabama,  Division  24. 

"A  FIRST-CLASS  LAUNDRY.  No  pains  spared,  only  soap. 
Patronize  us.  You  will  never  regret  it.  Taylor  and  Nelson,  North 
west  corner,  Division  3,  where  you  see  the  tub.  No  gentleman  nowa 
days  wears  starched  linen.  One  dislikes,  too,  a  glaring  white.  And 
nobody  likes  a  world  too  smooth.  Our  charges  are  moderate.  We 
are  Old  Reliable. 

"GUTTA-PERCHA  RINGS,  Ladies'  Bracelets,  Watch  Chains, 
Walking-Sticks  elaborately  carved.  Fancy  Buttons.  Just  the 
things  for  mementoes  of  this  summer-and- winter  resort!  Your 
lady-loves  will  prize  them.  Your  grandchildren-to-be  will  treasure 
them.  Call  and  look  them  over.  Genuine  bargains.  Washington 
and  Pinckney,  Division  30,  south  side.  Upper  tier  of  bunks. 

"HAVE  YOUR  HAIR  CUT.  It  needs  it.  Barbering  of  all  kinds 
done  with  expedition  and  neatness.  We  will  shave  you.  We  will 
shampoo  you.  Our  terms  are  the  most  reasonable  north  of  Mason 
and  Dixon.  Call  and  see  our  stock  of  Arabian  perfumes.  We  are 
experimenting  upon  a  substitute  for  soap.  Smith  and  Smith, 
Division  33. 

"COBBLE!  COBBLE!  COBBLE!  Have  your  sole  and  uppers 
parted  ?  Do  you  need  a  patch  ?  Come  and  talk  it  over.  We  are 
amateurs,  but  we  used  to  watch  old  Daddy  Jim  do  it.  We  think  we 
can  help  you.  Our  charges  are  not  exorbitant.  Porcher  and  Ravenel, 
Division  38. 

"CIRCULATING  LIBRARY.  We  are  happy  to  inform  the 
public  that  through  the  generosity  of  recent  arrivals  we  have  become 
possessed  of  another  copy  of  'LesMiserables,'  by  Victor  Hugo.  We 
have  also  'Macaria,'  by  Miss  Evans,  Thackeray's  'Vanity  Fair/ 
and  Virgil's  '^Eneid.'  At  the  closing  of  the  meeting  the  chairman 
of  the  Library  Committee  will  be  happy  to  take  names  of  appli 
cants  in  order. 

"We  pass  to  NOTICE  OF  DEATHS.   We  mourn  the  loss  of 


122  CEASE   FIRING 

Brigadier-General .  This  gallant  gentleman  and  soldier 

passed  away  yesterday  in  the  prison  hospital.  A  kinsman,  detained 

in  this  division,  was  allowed  to  be  with  him  at  the  last.  General 

asked  that  the  twenty-third  psalm  be  read,  and  when  it  was  done  he 
lay  quiet  for  a  while,  then  raised  himself  slightly  in  his  bunk.  '  God 
save  the  South ! '  he  said,  and  died.  Major , th  South  Caro 
lina,  is  dead.  Adjutant , th  Tennessee,  is  dead.  Captain 

, th  Virginia,  is  dead.  Captain , th  North  Caro 
lina,  is  dead.  Lieutenant , th  Virginia  Cavalry,  is  dead. 

Lieutenant , th  Mississippi,  is  dead.  We  hear  from  the 

men's  side  that  very  many  of  our  comrades  in  the  ranks  are  dead. 
So  be  it!  Dulce  et  decorum  est  pro  patria  mori." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause  in  the  reading.  Resumed,  The  Pen 
took  up  the  Continued  Story,  Instalment  5. 

The  Continued  Story  did  not  deal  with  war  and  war's  alarms. 
The  Continued  Story  was  a  story  of  domestic  bliss.  It  was  in  the 
quietest  vein;  true  love  not  too  much  crossed,  marriage  bells,  home, 
a  child,  little  details,  a  table  set,  flowers,  robins  singing,  talk  of  a 
journey.  Division  3,  leaning  forward,  listened  breathlessly.  The 
instalment  closed.  "To  be  continued  in  our  next."  A  sigh  went 
through  the  hall. 

The  hour  was  almost  up.  The  debate  that  was  scheduled  to  follow 
The  Pen  had  to  be  shortened.  Even  so,  it  took  place,  and  so  inter 
esting  was  it  that  various  blue  guards  and  officials,  drawn  by  echoes 
as  of  Demosthenes,  came  into  the  hall  and  made  part  of  the  audience. 
"WOMAN:  HER  PLACE  IN  CREATION.  DOES  IT  EQUAL  THAT  OF 
MAN?" 

The  negative,  in  this  time  and  place  and  audience,  received  scant 
sympathy.  In  vain  the  collegian  who  had  somewhat  doubtfully 
undertaken  it,  piled  Ossa  on  Pelion,  Aristotle  on  St.  Paul,  Rousseau 
on  Martin  Luther.  That  woman-famished  audience  received  quot 
ation  and  argument  in  stony  disapproval.  The  affirmative  soared 
over  Ossa  without  brushing  a  pinion.  Amid  applause  from  grey 
and  blue  alike,  the  affirmative,  somewhere  now  among  the  stars,  was 
declared  to  have  won. 

The  chairman  of  the  evening  rose.  "Gentlemen,  the  hour  is 
passed.  May  you  rest  well,  and  have  pleasant  dreams!  To-morrow 
night  the  Musical  Club  will  delight  us.  We  extend  to  the  gentlemen 


PRISON    X  123 

of  the  North  whom  I  see  among  us  a  cordial  invitation  to  honour  us 
again.  Good  night  —  good  night! " 

Division  3  streamed  beneath  the  smoky  lamps  out  of  the  close 
and  dark  hall  into  the  dark  and  close  rooms.  In  each  of  these  were 
tiers  of  bunks,  none  too  wide.  Each  boasted  one  grated  window 
which  let  in  a  very  little  of  the  summer  night.  The  doors  clanged 
behind  the  entering  men;  outside  in  the  hall  and  at  all  exits  the 
sentries  were  posted.  Within  a  few  minutes  the  doors  were  opened 
again.  "Rounds!"  Officer  in  blue,  men  in  blue,  swinging  lantern, 
vague  breath  of  the  outer  world  —  the  guardian  group  went  through 
each  room,  examining  keenly  the  tiers  of  bunks  each  with  its  shad 
owy  reclining  or  sitting  inmate,  lifting  the  lantern  to  peer  into  cor 
ners,  shaking  the  window  bars  to  see  that  there  had  been  no  filing. 
Ten  minutes,  and  with  or  without  a  gruff  "good  night!"  rounds 
were  over. 

A  half  hour  passed,  an  hour  passed.  It  was  a  dark  night  and 
breathless.  The  stars  that  might  be  seen  through  the  window,  above 
the  stockade,  showed  like  white-hot  metal  points  stuck  through  a 
heavy  pall.  Without  the  door  of  a  room  in  which  were  packed 
twenty  officers  sounded,  passing,  the  tread  of  the  sentry.  The-sound 
died  down  the  hall. 

A  man  stepped  lightly  and  quietly  from  his  bunk.  Another  left 
his  as  quietly,  —  another,  —  another.  Those  in  the  upper  tier 
swung  themselves  down,  noiseless  as  cats.  All  twenty  were  out  on  the 
floor.  Whatever  of  clothing  had  been  laid  aside  was  resumed.  Two 
men  took  their  places  by  the  door,  ear  to  the  heavy  panel.  Two 
watched  at  the  window.  All  movement  was  made  with  the  precision 
of  the  drill-yard  and  in  the  quietude  of  the  tomb.  In  the  corner,  near 
the  window,  was  a  bunk  in  which  had  slept  and  waked  a  lieutenant 
of  nineteen,  a  light,  thin,  small-boned  youngster.  Now  four  men, 
bending  over,  lifted  noiselessly  the  boards  upon  which  the  lieutenant 
had  lain.  Below,  stretched  smooth,  stained  and  coloured  like  the 
floor,  was  a  bit  of  tarpaulin,  obtained  after  God  knows  what  skilful 
manoeuvring!  The  men  turned  this  back.  Beneath  gaped  a  ragged 
hole,  a  yard  across,  black  and  deep.  Up  came  a  colder  air  and  an 
earthy  smell. 

In  this  room  Maury  Stafford  was  the  leader.  With  a  whispered 
word  he  put  his  hands  on  the  edge  of  the  excavation  and  swung  him- 


124  CEASE   FIRING 

self  down,  dropping  at  last  several  feet  to  the  floor  of  the  tunnel. 
One  by  one  the  twenty  followed,  the  four  from  door  and  window 
coming  last.  As  best  they  could,  these  pulled  the  boards  of  the 
lieutenant's  bunk  in  place  over  the  entrance  to  that  underground, 
which,  with  heart-stifling  delays  and  dangers,  they  had  digged. 
For  months  they  had  been  digging  —  a  hundred  and  odd  men 
conspiring  together,  digging  in  the  night-time,  with  infinite  caution, 
with  strange,  inadequate  tools,  in  darkness  and  silence  and  danger,  a 
road  to  Freedom. 

From  either  side  of  them  came  a  tapping  sound,  three  taps,  one 
tap,  four  taps,  one  tap.  They  made  the  return  signal.  " Trenck" 
said  a  low  voice  down  the  tunnel.  "Lattide"  answered  one  of  the 
twenty.  "All  right!"  came  back  the  voice;  " Latude,  lead  the  way." 

The  men  who  replaced  the  boards  had  given  a  last  backward  look 
to  the  room  and  the  window  through  which  came  the  starlight.  The 
slight  and  thin  lieutenant  was  one  of  them.  "I  reckon  even  at  home, 
in  the  four-poster  in  the  best  room,  I  '11  dream  for  a  while  that  there 's 
a  black,  empty  coal-mine  below  me!  —  Shh!  —  All  right,  sir." 

There  was  a  column  moving  through  the  tunnel,  the  tunnel  into 
which  .from  the  several  conspiring  rooms  there  were  openings,  all 
masked,  all  concealed  and  guarded,  one  by  this  means,  one  by  that, 
but  alike  with  the  infinite  sharpened  ingenuity  of  trapped  creatures. 
The  disposal  of  the  earth  that  was  burrowed  out  —  genius  had 
gone  to  that,  genius  and  a  patience  incredible.  Inch  by  inch  the  way 
had  opened.  There  has  been  the  measuring,  too,  the  calculation 
of  distance.  .  .  .  They  must  dig  upward  and  out  at  some  point 
beyond  the  stockade  —  not  too  far  beyond;  they  could  not  afford 
to  dig  forever. 

The  tunnel  was  finished.  To-night  they  were  coming  out,  coming 
out  somewhere  beyond  the  stockade.  There  was  a  rugged  gully, 
they  knew,  and  then  at  a  little  distance,  the  river  —  the  river  that, 
on  the  other  side,  laved  the  Virginian  shore.  Let  them  but  surprise, 
overpower  whatever  picket  force  might  be  stationed  beyond  the 
stockade,  get  to  the  river.  .  .  .  Trust  them  to  swim  the  river! 

They  crept  —  a  hundred  and  odd  men  —  through  the  stifling 
passage.  They  could  not  stand  upright.  The  sweat  drenched  their 
bodies,  their  hands  were  wet  against  the  walls.  The  tunnel  that 
they  had  been  digging  for  ages  had  never  appeared  a  short  one;  to- 


PRISON   X  125 

night  it  seemed  to  stretch  across  infinity.  At  last  they  reached  the 
end,  the  upward  slope  and  then  the  round  chamber  that  they  had 
made  beyond  —  beyond  the  stockade !  The  head  of  the  line  had  a 
bit  of  candle,  hoarded  against  this  moment.  The  spurt  of  the  match 
caused  a  start  throughout  the  stretched  line,  the  pale  flicker  of  the 
candle  showed  drawn  faces. 

They  had  two  makeshift  picks.  How  the  iron  had  been  obtained 
and  the  handles  fashioned  would  make  a  long  story.  There  had  been 
a  sifting  of  the  stronger  men  to  the  front;  now  two  of  these,  standing 
in  the  round  chamber,  raised  and  swung  the  picks  and  attacked  the 
tunnel's  roof.  Earth  fell  with  a  hollow  sound.  The  hearts  of  that 
company  beat  in  response.  They  were  all  bowed  in  the  tunnel;  their 
faces  gleamed  with  sweat;  their  gleaming  hands  trembled  where  they 
pressed  them  against  the  walls.  The  blows  of  the  picks  made  music, 
music  that  agonized  while  it  charmed.  They  saw  the  sky  and  the 
open  country  and  the  river  mirroring  the  stars.  They  had  not  a 
firearm  nor  a  sword  among  them,  but  a  few  had  pocket-knives,  and 
others  jagged  bits  of  sheet-iron,  billets  of  wood,  even  sharpened 
stones.  Now  and  then  the  line  whispered,  but  it  never  spoke  aloud. 
The  two  at  the  end  of  the  tunnel  gave  the  picks  to  another  two;  the 
iron  swung,  the  earth  fell.  To  the  strained  hearing  of  all  it  fell  ever 
with  a  more  hollow  and  thunderous  sound.  Moreover,  the  sense  of 
space  changed,  and  time  likewise.  They  knew  this  very  long  and 
dark  passage  so  well;  every  inch  of  it  was  familiar;  had  they  not  been 
digging  it  since  the  dawn  of  time?  To-night  it  was  luridly  strange. 
Legions  of  drums  beat  in  the  brain,  and  there  were  flashes  of  colour 
before  the  eyes.  The  line  was  caught  in  a  strange  vein  of  Becoming, 
and  what  would  Become  no  man  knew.  The  hundred  and  odd  hoped 
for  the  best,  but  surely  all  things  were  becoming  portentous. 

The  two  in  the  round  chamber  changed  again  —  Maury  Stafford 
now  stood  there  with  another.  Rhythmically  the  picks  struck  the 
roof,  rhythmically  the  earth  fell.  Since  Sharpsburg  of  what  had  not 
Maury  Stafford  thought?  The  mind  had  tried  to  become  and  remain 
stoical,  the  mind  had  sickened,  the  mind  had  recovered;  it  had 
known  the  depths  and  the  middle  spaces  and  the  blank  wind-swept 
heights;  the  depths  again,  the  middle  spaces,  the  heights,  and  every 
point  between.  There  had  been  changes  in  its  structure.  In  its 
legions  of  warring  elements  some,  long  dominant,  had  taken  a  lower 


126  CEASE   FIRING 

place;  others  were  making  good  their  claims  to  the  thrones.  He  had 
been  well-nigh  a  year  in  prison,  and  a  year  in  prison  counted  five  of 
earth.  He  had  seen  the  minds  of  others  dulled;  all  things  sent  to 
sleep  except  suffering  and  useless  anger,  or  suffering  and  useless 
despondency.  He,  too,  had  known  dulness  for  a  time,  but  it  had 
passed.  There  came  in  its  place  a  certain  lucidity,  a  certain  hard 
ness,  and  at  the  same  time  a  widening.  The  prison  bars  held  the 
physical  man,  but  the  wings  of  the  inner  man  had  broadened  and 
they  beat  at  vaster  walls. 

The  picks  struck,  the  earth  fell.  Behind  him  he  heard  the  breath 
ing  of  the  men.  He,  too,  was  dizzy  from  exertion,  from  the  air  of  the 
tunnel.  As  he  worked  he  was  saying  over  to  himself,  over  and  over, 
old  lines  that  came  into  his  head  — 

"This  ae  night,  this  ae  night, 

Every  night  and  all. 
Fire  and  sleet  and  candlelight 
And  Christ  receive  thy  soul  — " 

The  officer  working  with  him  uttered  a  low  exclamation.  "  Look ! " 

Stafford  looked,  then  turned  his  head.  "Be  ready,  all  of  you! 
We're  nearly  through." 

The  earth  fell,  the  rift  widened.  Down  into  the  breathless  tunnel, 
like  wine  to  the  exhausted,  came  a  gust  of  night  air.  The  long  queue 
of  waiting  men  quivered.  The  hole  in  the  roof  widened.  .  .  . 
The  workers  were  now  working  very  cautiously,  very  quietly.  Even 
in  the  dead  of  the  night,  even  well  beyond  the  stockade,  even,  as 
they  hoped,  in  the  bottom  of  the  gully  running  down  to  the  river, 
there  might  be  wakeful  ears.  The  workers  made  the  least  possible 
noise,  the  hundred  and  odd  waiting  prisoners  made  none  at  all. 
Crouched  in  silence  they  breathed  the  night  air  and  the  sweat  dried 
upon  them.  .  .  .  The  hole  in  the  roof  became  large  enough,  to  let 
a  man  through.  Footholds  had  already  been  made  along  the  side 
of  the  tunnel.  The  workers  laid  down  their  picks,  mounted,  and 
tried  their  weight  upon  the  edges  of  the  opening.  The  earth  held. 
"Ready!"  breathed  Stafford.  "McCarthy,  you  go  first." 

McCarthy  drew  himself  up  and  out  of  the  tunnel.  "  Now,  Lamar ! " 
Lamar  followed.  The  queue  moved  a  step  forward.  The  third  man 
had  his  hands  on  the  edge  of  the  hole.  McCarthy's  form  appeared 
above,  blocking  the  starlight,  McCarthy's  face  down  bent,  waxen 


PRISON   X  127 

as  the  almost  burned-out  taper  which  threw  against  it  a  little 
quivering  light.  McCarthy's  whisper  came  down.  "O  my  God,  my 
God!  We  turned  and  dug  obliquely.  .  .  .  We're  still  inside  the 
stockade!" 

There  sounded  the  discharge  of  a  sentry's  piece,  followed  by  a 
hallooing  and  the  noise  of  running  feet. 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE   SIEGE 

EIGHT  gunboats  held  the  river  in  front  of,  above,  and  below  the 
doomed  town.  Under  the  leafy  Louisiana  shore  the  blue 
placed  seven  mortars.  These  kept  up  a  steady  fire  upon  the 
city  and  the  river  defences.  At  intervals  the  gunboats  engaged  the 
lower  batteries.  There  was  an  abandoned  line  of  works  which  was 
seized  upon  by  a  cloud  of  blue  sharpshooters.  These  began  to  pick 
off  men  at  the  grey  guns,  and  traverses  had  to  be  built  against  them. 
The  grey  had  in  the  river  batteries  thirty-one  siege  guns,  and  a  few 
pieces  of  light  artillery.  Even  of  these  they  had  eventually  to  spare 
guns  for  the  land  defences. 

At  dawn  of  the  twenty-seventh  of  May  began  the  engagement  in 
which  the  Cincinnati  was  sunk.  She  had  fourteen  guns,  and  she 
opened  furiously  upon  the  upper  batteries  while  four  gunboats 
handled  the  lower.  But  the  upper  batteries  sunk  her;  she  went  down 
not  far  from  the  shore  in  water  that  did  not  quite  cover  her  decks. 
Her  loss  was  heavy,  from  the  grey  shells  and  from  the  grey  sharp 
shooters  who  picked  off  her  men  at  the  portholes.  Night  after  night 
blue  craft  gathered  around  her,  trying  to  take  away  the  fourteen 
guns,  but  night  after  night  the  upper  batteries  drove  them  away. 
She  stayed  there,  the  Cincinnati,  heavy  and  mournful  in  the  smoke- 
shrouded  river.  And  day  after  day,  and  week  after  week,  the  seven 
mortars  and  all  the  gunboats  launched  their  thunders  against  the 
water  batteries  and  the  town  beyond. 

Three  fourths  of  a  rough  circle  ran  the  landward  defences.  There 
were  exterior  ditches,  eight  and  ten  feet  deep,  with  provision  for  the 
infantry,  with  embrasures  and  platforms  for  artillery.  Before  them 
were  thrown  abatis,  palisades,  entanglements  of  picket  and  tele 
graph  wire.  The  ground  was  all  ridge  and  hollow;  redan  and  redoubt 
and  lunette  occupied  the  commanding  points,  and  between  them 
ran  the  rifle-pits.  There  was  much  digging  yet  to  be  done,  and  few 
men  and  no  great  supply  of  entrenching  tools  with  which  to  do  it. 


S  HARPS  H  OOTERS 


THE   SIEGE  129 

Night  after  night  fatigue  parties  were  busy.  Behind  all  the  salients 
they  made  inner  lines  for  time  of  need;  they  built  traverses  against 
enfilading  fires.  So  fast  did  the  blue  sharpshooters  pick  off  officers 
and  men,  as  they  passed  from  the  works  to  the  camps  in  the  rear, 
that  very  soon  the  grey  were  forced  to  contrive  covered  ways. 
Through  the  hot  nights  laboured  already  wearied  men.  The  five 
hundred  picks  and  shovels  were  shared  among  the  troops.  Where 
they  gave  out,  wooden  shovels  were  contrived  and  bayonets  were 
used  as  picks.  In  the  night-time  the  damage  of  the  day  must  be 
somehow  repaired.  The  damage  of  each  day  was  very  great. 

The  centre  of  the  Confederate  line,  from  the  Jackson  railroad  to 
the  Graveyard  road,  was  held  by  Forney's  division.  General  Martin 
Luther  Smith  held  from  the  Graveyard  road  to  the  river  on  the 
north,  and  made  the  left.  Carter  L.  Stevenson's  division  held  from 
the  railroad  to  the  Warrenton  road  and  the  river  south,  and  formed 
the  right.  Behind  Forney  lay  in  reserve  Bowen  with  his  Missourians 
and  Waul's  Texas  Legion.  Counting  the  three  thousand  and  more 
in  hospital,  there  were  twenty-eight  thousand  men  defending  Vicks- 
burg.  They  were  all  needed.  Thrice  the  number  would  have  found 
work  to  do. 

Outside  the  Confederate  line  ran  the  Federal  line  of  investment. 
At  the  beginning  of  the  siege  the  two  lines  were  some  hundreds  of 
yards  apart;  as  the  siege  went  on  the  blue  drew  nearer,  nearer.  They 
drew  so  near  at  last  that,  at  night,  the  grey  and  blue  pickets  con 
versed,  so  near  that  at  places  the  several  ramparts  all  but  touched. 
Forty-three  thousand  had  Grant  at  the  formal  opening  of  the  siege; 
steadily  as  it  progressed  he  brought  across  the  river  other  thousands. 
By  the  middle  of  June  he  had  seventy-five  thousand,  besides  the 
fleet  upon  the  river.  Ninth  Army  Corps,  Thirteenth  Army  Corps, 
Fifteenth,  Sixteenth,  Seventeenth  Army  Corps,  —  Grant  drew  his 
forces  and  to  spare  around  the  town  and  its  all  too  meagre  defences, 
its  one  hundred  and  two  guns  and  small  store  of  ammunition  and  its 
twenty-eight  thousand  combatants,  three  thousand  of  whom  were 
in  hospital.  Besides  the  guns  of  the  fleet,  there  were  now  two  hun 
dred  and  twenty  blue  guns  in  position.  They  never  lacked  for  am 
munition.  Seven  miles,  from  the  river  north  of  the  town  to  the  river 
south,  ran  the  Confederate  lines.  Fifteen  miles,  from  Haines's  Bluff 
to  Warrenton,  enclosing  the  Confederate,  ran  the  Federal  lines. 


130  CEASE   FIRING 

Grant  was  strongly  posted.  He  had  wide,  sheltered  hollows  in  which 
to  mass  his  men,  and  commanding  ridge-tops  on  which  to  place  his 
guns.  His  far-flung  position  was  strong  for  offence,  and  equally 
strong,  in  case  of  an  attack  from  without,  for  defence.  All  day  and 
every  day  thundered  the  Federal  artillery.  All  day  and  every  day 
the  grey  lines  and  the  grey  town  knew  the  rain  of  shells.  Very  early 
in  the  siege  the  blue  prepared  to  mine. 

At  Jackson,  fifty  miles  to  the  east,  was  Joseph  E.  Johnston,  slowly 
gathering  troops.  At  the  last  and  best  he  had  only  twenty-four 
thousand  troops.  Between  him  and  the  beleaguered  place  lay  an 
army  of  seventy-five  thousand  men,  strongly  posted,  and  strong  — 
where  the  grey  were  weakest  —  in  artillery;  with,  also,  a  blue 
fleet  in  the  background.  At  long  intervals  Pemberton  got  out  a 
messenger  to  him;  at  long  intervals  one  of  his  own  got  into 
Vicksburg. 

Within  all  these  lines  Vicksburg  herself  crouched  and  waited. 
All  her  people  who  might  dwelled  now  in  caves.  They  came  out  in 
the  night  or  during  the  infrequent  silences  of  the  day  and  returned 
to  the  houses  that  were  not  injured.  They  grew  careless  about  ex 
posure,  or  rather  they  grew  fatalistic  after  the  manner  of  courageous, 
besieged  places.  They  passed  through  the  streets  even  when  the 
shells  were  raining,  or  they  wandered  out  toward  the  lines,  or  they 
sat  under  some  already  splintered  tree  and  counted  the  gunboats 
on  the  dusky  river.  Courage  stayed  with  them,  and  even  at  times 
gaiety,  though  she  had  a  hectic  cheek. 

On  the  twenty-second  of  May  the  town  rocked  under  the  first  as 
sault.  Four  ironclads  and  a  wooden  gunboat  —  thirty-two  guns  — 
opened  upon  the  river  batteries.  From  the  land  the  artillery  began 
as  well,  a  great  force  of  artillery  sending  shot  and  shell  against  the 
Confederate  centre  and  right  and  into  the  town  beyond.  At  one 
o'clock  came  the  first  of  three  Federal  charges,  directed  against 
the  line  of  Stephen  D.  Lee.  The  assault  was  desperate,  the  repulse 
as  determined.  The  grey  guns  did  not  spare  to-day  grape  and  canis 
ter.  The  grey  musketry  poured  from  the  trenches  volley  after  volley 
in  the  face  of  the  foe.  A  blue  storming  party,  Illinois  and  Ohio  and 
Missouri,  charged  a  redoubt  in  which  the  cannon  had  made  a  breach. 
They  crossed  the  ditch,  they  mounted  the  earthen  wall,  they  fixed 
two  fla^s  upon  the  parapet.  They  hurrahed  in  triumph.  This  angle 


THE  SIEGE  131 

was  uncommanded  by  any  grey  work.  The  flags  could  be  dislodged 
only  by  a  countercharge  and  hand-to-hand  fighting.  Volunteers 
were  called  for,  and  there  went  a  band  of  Waul's  Texans,  led  by 
Colonel  Pettus  of  the  Twentieth  Alabama.  The  blue  artillery  opened 
upon  them;  there  fell  a  fearful  hail.  The  bullets  of  the  sharpshooters, 
too,  came  against  them  like  bees  armed  each  with  a  mortal  sting. 
The  grey  rushed  on.  They  dislodged  the  blue  from  the  fort,  then 
fought  them  in  the  ditch  below.  They  used  shells  like  hand  grenades, 
flinging  them  from  the  rampart.  They  took  the  flags,  waved  them 
on  high,  then  sent  them  back  to  their  colonel,  who  sent  them  to 
Stephen  Lee.  They  beat  back  the  blue  storming  party.  .  .  .  The 
grey  beat  back  the  whole  wide,  three  blue  charges,  hurled  them  back 
upon  their  lines  like  torn  waves  from  an  iron  coast.  When  dusk 
came  and  sullenly  the  firing  ceased,  the  Federal  dead  and  wounded 
lay  thick,  thick,  up  and  down  before  the  Confederate  line,  by  ditch 
and  wall,  —  perhaps  two  thousand  dead  and  wounded.  In  the 
night-time  some  were  taken  away,  but  very,  very  many  were  left. 
The  weather  was  deadly  hot. 

Dead  and  wounded  lay  there  so  long  that  it  became  frightful.  The 
grey  did  not  love  the  crying  on  their  front,  the  gasping  voices,  the 
faint,  dry,  Water!  Water!  Water!  —  dry  and  shrill  like  insects  in  the 
grass.  The  dead  became  offensive,  horrible.  The  grey  sent  a  flag 
of  truce:  General  Pemberton's  request  to  General  Grant  that  hos 
tilities  be  suspended  for  several  hours  while  the  Federal  dead  were 
buried  and  the  wounded  relieved.  It  was  then  the  twenty-fifth. 
Grant,  his  cigar  between  his  teeth,  sitting  before  his  tent  out  near 
the  Graveyard  road,  nodded  assent.  All  that  afternoon  they  buried 
the  dead,  and  removed  the  yet  living.  A  thunder-shower  came  down 
and  did  something  to  wash  away  the  stains.  In  the  silence  and  re 
spite  from  the  shells,  Vicksburg  left  its  caves  and  hurried  through 
trampled  gardens  back  to  the  homes  it  loved.  Here  and  there  was 
ruin.  The  shell  might  have  exploded  in  the  porch,  bearing  down  the 
white  pillars,  or  in  the  parlour,  shivering  the  mirrors  and  the  crystal 
chandeliers,  or  upon  the  stair,  or  in  a  bedroom.  Here  and  there 
was  wholly  ruin.  A  gaunt  framework  lifted  itself  among  the  roses, 
or  the  white  magnolias  stared  at  a  heap  of  charred  timbers.  .  .  . 
The  truce  lasted  less  than  three  hours. 

There  was  one  cave  quite  out  of  town,  quite  near  the  lines.  It 


132  CEASE   FIRING 

belonged  to  an  old  country-house  with  a  fair  garden,  and  it  was  digged 
at  the  time  of  the  bombardment  the  past  summer.  Now  the  house 
had  been  burned  and  the  people  occupying  it  had  gone  into  the 
crowded  town.  The  cave  stood  empty.  It  had  been  made  in  the  side 
of  a  tall,  vine-draped  bank.  Dark  cedars  with  heavy  and  twisted 
roots  overhung  it,  and  on  either  side  there  was  ivy  and  honeysuckle. 
It  was  a  large  cave,  clean  and  dry.  The  family  that  had  moved 
away  had  left  within  it  a  low  bed  and  a  small  old  dressing-table  and 
other  furniture  and  a  little  china  and  tinware.  At  no  great  distance 
trickled  and  gurgled  the  spring  belonging  to  the  house.  One  heard  it 
in  the  night-time,  but  all  day  long  it  was  lost  in  the  thunder.  Desiree 
went  to  it  for  water  only  after  dark. 

The  house  which  had  given  her  refuge  had  been  one  of  the  first 
demolished.  She  looked  at  all  the  warrens  that  had  been  dug  in  the 
earth,  and  then,  one  rosy  evening,  she  walked  out  toward  the  lines. 
She  took  the  direction  of  the  redan  where  Edward  was  stationed, 
and  just  on  the  townward  side  of  the  line  of  sentries  she  found  this 
ruined  house  in  its  ruined  garden  and  the  empty  cave.  The  next  day 
in  she  moved. 

Lieutenant  Edward  Gary  got  her  message,  brought  him  by  his 
commanding  officer.  "  Gary,  I  was  riding  by  the  ruined  house,  and  a 
very  beautiful  woman  came  out  of  a  cave  in  the  hill  and  said  she  was 
your  wife,  and  that  she  was  making  her  home  there,  and  would  you 
come  to  Cape  Jessamine  when  you  could." 

It  was  two  days  before  he  could  go  to  Cape  Jessamine.  The  even 
ing  of  the  truce  he  went,  through  the  great  fresh  coolness  after  the 
storm.  There  was  yet  in  the  sky  a  dark  blur  of  cloud  with  a  sweep 
below  it  of  ragged,  crepe-like  filaments,  but  the  lightning  and  thun 
der  had  ceased  and  the  rain  was  over.  Moist  fragrance  rose  from  the 
desolated  garden.  After  all  the  heat  and  turmoil  there  was  a  silence 
that  seemed  divine.  Just  by  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  half  buried  in 
the  trailing  ivy,  Desiree  had  placed  a  bench.  Here,  the  first  rapture 
of  meeting  over,  they  sat  in  the  evening  light,  the  storm  rolling  away, 
an  odour  coming  to  them  of  mignonette. 

He  gathered  her  hands  in  his.  "Desiree  Gaillard,  this  is  no  place  for 
you !  They  are  driving  an  approach  to  the  redan  and  are  massing 
guns  against  it.  The  shells  will  fall  in  this  garden.  Go  back  to  the 
town!" 


THE   SIEGE  133 

"No;  I  will  not.  I  like  this  better." 

"The  point  is  that  you  may  be  killed." 

"No,  I  will  not  be.  The  shells  fall,  too,  in  the  town.  I  will  be  care 
ful." 

"Dear  heart,  I  mean  it." 

"Dear  heart,  I  mean  it,  too.  The  danger  is  not  greater  than  it  is  in 
town.  Yesterday  there  a  child's  arm  was  torn  away." 

"Oh—" 

"Yes.  .  .  .  It  is  so  frightful.  And  they  are  burying  the  dead  out 
there.  A  soldier  told  me." 

"Yes.  .  .  .  How  still  it  seems!  And  the  mignonette  ..." 

"It  is  as  still  as  was  the  garden  at  Cape  Jessamine.  Look  how  the 
clouds  are  drifting  by.  .  .  ." 

"Desiree,  I  brought  you  into  the  country  of  Danger.  If  you  had 
gone  to  the  Fusilier  place  — " 

"I  should  be  dead  by  now.  The  country  of  Danger  is  a  happy 
country  to-night.  I  fear  it  no  more  than  you.  Indeed,  I  love  it  — 
since  you  are  here.  We  are  not  children  travelling,  you  and  I.  Look 
at  the  light  trembling  up  from  the  west!" 

"That  night  upon  the  levee.  .  .  .  You  were  the  heart  of  the  red 
light.  Now  you  sit  here,  heart  of  the  gold  light.  ...  I  love  you." 

"I  love  you." 

The  clouds  drifted  away,  the  sun  went  down  clear.  The  evening 
star  was  shining  like  a  silver  lamp  when  the  two  unlocked  their 
arms,  kissed,  and  rose.  All  the  ruined  garden  was  filled  with  fireflies, 
and  there  stole  upward  the  odour  of  the  mignonette.  She  went  with 
him  to  the  fallen  old  brick  gateposts.  There  they  embraced  and 
parted.  Going  down  toward  the  trenches  he  looked  back  and  saw 
her  standing,  the  fireflies  about  her  like  stars,  behind  her  tall  shadowy 
trees,  and,  like  a  hieroglyphic  against  the  sky,  the  charred  rafters  of 
the  ruined  house. 

At  dawn  the  cannonading  began  anew  and  lasted  all  day.  Musk 
etry,  too,  volleyed  and  rolled.  The  Federal  ammunition  never  lacked, 
but  the  grey  were  in  no  position  to  spend  with  freedom.  Every  ridge 
of  the  besieging  line  belched  saffron  flame,  thick  smoke,  and  thunder; 
every  point  of  vantage  sent  its  stream  of  minies,  horribly  singing. 
On  this  day  the  blue  began  sap  after  sap.  In  the  night-time  the  grey 
sent  a  detachment  from  Stevenson's  right  out  upon  the  river  flats, 


i34  CEASE   FIRING 

their  errand  the  constructing  of  an  abatis  against  a  possible  blue  ap 
proach  that  way.  A  Federal  party  came  against  them  and  there  was 
a  bitter  skirmish.  The  gunboats,  excitedly  waking,  thrust  a  duel 
upon  the  river  batteries.  The  night  flamed  and  roared.  The  grey 
won  out  upon  the  flats  and  returned  with  a  hundred  prisoners.  The 
morning  saw  the  river  fight  and  the  sinking  of  the  Cincinnati. 

May  shook  and  thundered  toward  its  sulphurous  close.  The 
twenty-ninth,  thirtieth,  and  thirty-first  were  marked  by  a  continu 
ous,  frightful  bombardment.  By  now  the  blue  parallels  were  close, 
close  to  every  main  grey  work.  They  were  very  close,  indeed,  to 
the  Third  Louisiana  Redan.  All  night  the  grey  engineers  and  their 
haggard  men  dug,  dug  to  repair  the  daytime  breaches,  to  make  inner 
lines.  On  the  first  day  of  June  fire  broke  out  in  the  town.  There 
threatened  a  general  conflagration,  but  soldiers  and  civilians  con 
quered  the  flames  before  there  was  disaster  irretrievable.  The 
weather  was  deadly  hot.  Fever  became  epidemic. 

There  arrived  a  question  of  musket  caps.  Imperatively  needed, 
they  must  be  had.  If  it  were  possible  for  a  few  daring  men  to  get 
down  the  river  and  across,  behind  the  enemy,  to  Jackson,  General 
Johnston  would  send  the  caps.  There  were  volunteers.  Captain 
Saunders,  Lamar  Fontaine,  a  courier  named  Walker,  were  the  first 
chosen ;  later,  a  noted  scout  and  Lieutenant  Edward  Gary.  At  mid 
night  they  drifted  down  the  river  on  logs.  The  battery  under  whose 
shadow  they  had  set  out  listened  for  a  shout,  looked  for  a  leaping 
flame  from  some  one  of  the  gunboats  they  must  pass.  But  the 
gunboats  lay  silent.  There  was  always  driftwood  upon  the  rushing 
river. 

At  dawn  the  mortars  on  the  Louisiana  side  began  to  shell  the  bat 
teries  and  the  town  beyond.  Later  the  gunboats  took  a  hand.  Six 
days  in  succession  this  bombardment  opened  with  the  first  light  in 
the  east  and  closed  with  the  latest  in  the  west.  Vicksburg  lost  the 
last  semblance  of  old  times.  The  bombs  ripped  houses  open  as 
they  ripped  bodies.  The  blue  began  to  drive  double  saps  against 
the  principal  redans.  The  grey  began  to  countermine.  All  the 
torn,  sunbaked  line  knew  that  from  now  on  it  would  stand  over 
volcanoes. 

Desiree  went  into  the  town  and  to  the  hospitals,  but  when  she 
found  there  were  nurses  enough  she  was  glad  —  though,  had  there 


THE   SIEGE  135 

been  need,  she  like  all  the  rest  would  have  worked  there  until  she 
dropped. 

At  the  door  of  one  of  the  hospitals  she  spoke  to  a  surgeon.  "  There 
is  no  yellow  fever  ?  " 

"No,  thank  God!  Not  yet.  —  I'll  strike  on  wood." 

They  watched  a  shell  burst  in  the  air  above  an  empty  garden. 
"Well,  if  they'd  only  keep  that  spot  for  a  target!  But  they 
won't.  .  .  .  When  we  stopped  counting  a  week  ago  the  hospitals 
had  been  struck  twenty-one  times.  It 's  hard  on  wounded  men  to 
be  rewounded.  —  There's  another!" 

The  shell  ploughed  a  trench  across  the  street,  burst  against  the 
corner  of  a  brick  wall,  and  brought  it  down  in  ruin. 

"  You  can't  blame  them  for  getting  unnerved,  lying  there  and  list 
ening,"  pursued  the  surgeon.  "Then  they  don't  get  well  quickly 
and  conditions  are  unfavourable  for  amputations  and  operations. 
And  I  've  never  seen  worse  wounds  than  we  're  getting  in  this  siege. 

—  There's  another!" 

Desiree  went  on  to  a  row  of  caves  in  a  parched  hillside.  Here  were 
certain  of  her  old  friends,  and  here  was  a  kind  of  central  storeroom 
from  which  she  with  others  drew  her  slender  rations.  The  basket 
which  she  had  brought  she  partly  rilled,  then  sat  upon  a  stone  and 
asked  and  answered  questions.  It  was  not  for  long;  she  was  not 
happy  away  from  Cape  Jessamine.  They  begged  her  to  stay;  they 
represented  that  a  moderate  risk  was  all  right,  —  they  ran  it  here, 

—  but  that  so  near  the  lines  she  was  in  actual  danger.   She  laughed 
with  her  beautiful  eyes  and  went  her  way. 

A  little  farther  down  the  line  she  paused  for  a  moment  beside  a 
young  woman  in  black  sitting  in  the  cave  mouth,  a  slate  and  pencil 
on  her  knee  and  beside  her  a  boy  and  girl.  "  You  are  keeping  school, 
Miss  Lily?" 

"It  is  n't  exactly  school,"  said  Miss  Lily,  "but  one  must  enter 
tain  the  children.  It  is  hard  on  them  being  penned  up  like  this." 

"We're  drawing  funny  pictures,"  explained  the  boy.  "This  is 
General  Grant." 

"And  this,"  chimed  in  the  girl,  "is  General  Sherman!  Does  n't 
he  look  fierce?" 

"And  this  is  Yankee  Doodle!  Look  at  his  feather  —  all  over  the 
slate!" 


136  CEASE   FIRING 

Miss  Lily  leaned  a  little  forward,  her  thin  hands  clasped  about  her 
knees,  her  luminous  dark  eyes  upon  the  murky  sky.  She  had  a  voice 
of  liquid  sweetness,  all  shot  with  little  lights  and  shadows.  "I  had 
such  a  vivid  dream  last  night.  I  thought  that  suddenly  all  the  shells, 
instead  of  coming  this  way,  were  going  that  way,  and  somebody  said  it 
would  be  because  General  Johnston  was  coming  with  a  great  army 
and  that  the  enemy's  cannon  were  turned  against  them.  All  the  sky 
grew  clear  red  instead  of  blue,  and  in  it  I  saw  the  army  coming. 
It  was  like  the  pictures  of  the  Judgment  Day.  And  the  flag  was  in 
front,  and  there  were  clouds  and  thunders.  And  the  enemy  was  swept 
of  the  face  of  the  earth."  She  sighed.  "And  then  I  woke  up,  and  the 
shells  were  coming  this  way." 

"I  dreamed,  too,"  said  the  little  girl;  "I  dreamed  about  Christ 
mas." 

Desiree  went  back  to  Cape  Jessamine.  On  the  way  she  walked  for 
a  while  beside  an  old  negro  woman.  "  Yass,  'm,  yass,  'm!  De  deb- 
bil  am  rainin'  fire  an'  brimstone!  En  now  ef  de  Lawd  'd  only  send 
de  manna  an'  de  quails  !  " 

"Are  you  hungry  ?"  asked  Desiree.   "You  look  hungry." 

"Well,  'm,  dar  wuz  de  chillern.  I  done  hab  my  ration  en  dey  done 
hab  theirs,  but  de  Lawd  Jesus  knows  growin'  chillern  need  six  ra 
tions!  I  could  n't  give  'em  six,  but  I  giv  'em  mine.  —  I  ben  lookin' 
at  de  berries  in  de  patch  ober  dar,  but  Lawd!  de  bloom  ain't  much 
moh'n  fallen!" 

Desiree  uncovered  the  basket  and  shared  with  her  her  loaf  of 
bread.  The  other  took  it  with  glistening  eyes  and  profuse  thanks. 
They  parted,  and  Desiree  went  on  to  the  cave  below  the  cedars  in 
the  ruined  garden.  The  day  was  hot,  hot!  and  the  air  was  thick,  and 
there  was  always  smell  of  burned  powder,  and  dull,  continual  noise. 
But  the  cave  itself  was  dark  and  cool.  She  had  drawn  the  ivy  so  that 
it  fell  like  a  curtain  across  the  entrance.  She  drank  a  cup  of  water, 
ate  a  piece  of  bread,  then  lay  down  upon  her  pallet.  She  lay  very 
straight,  her  hands  clasped  upon  her  breast,  her  dark  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  veil  of  ivy.  The  light  came  in,  cool  and  green  like  emerald  water. 
The  booming  of  the  cannon  grew  rhythmic  like  great  waves  against  a 
cliff.  Edward!  Edward!  They  beat  in  her  brain  —  Edward!  Edward! 

She  knew  that  he  was  gone  with  the  others  for  the  musket  caps. 
Day  by  day  soldiers  in  numbers  passed  her  garden.  She  had  come  to 


THE   SIEGE  137 

know  the  faces  of  many  and  had  made  friends  with  them.  Sometimes 
they  asked  for  water.  Sometimes  the  wounded  rested  here.  An  offi 
cer,  mortally  wounded,  had  been  laid  upon  this  pallet  and  had  died 
here,  upheld  for  the  last  labouring  breath  in  her  arms.  The  colonel 
commanding  the  troops  in  the  redan  and  trenches  at  this  point 
stopped  occasionally  in  coming  or  going.  He  was  a  chivalrous,  grey- 
mustached  hero  who  paid  her  compliments  three-piled.  It  was  he 
who  told  her  of  the  volunteers  for  dangerous  service,  but  it  was  a 
smoke-grimed,  tattered  private  who  brought  her  a  line  from  Edward, 
pencilled  just  at  starting.  .  .  .  Five  days  ago. 

She  lay  perfectly  still,  breathing  lightly  but  deeply.  Her  mind,  like 
a  bird,  flew  now  into  this  landscape,  now  into  that.  Cape  Jessamine 
—  Cape  Jessamine  —  and  the  river  rolling  over  what  had  been  home 
and  life.  Her  room  —  the  river  rolling  over  her  room  —  the  bal 
cony  with  the  yellow  rose  and  the  silken  dresses  in  the  carved  ward 
robe.  .  .  .  She  was  in  New  Orleans.  —  Mardigras — Rex  pass 
ing  —  Louis  as  Rex  —  flowers  down  raining.  All  the  masks  —  the 
ball.  .  .  .  France  —  an  old  house  in  Southern  France  with  poplars 
and  a  still  stream.  .  .  .  Her  eyelids  closed.  Green  water  falling,  and 
the  cypresses  of  Cape  Jessamine.  .  .  .  She  turned  on  her  side  — 
Edward!  Edward! 

The  great  waves  continued  to  break  against  the  cliffs,  then 
arose  a  deafening  crash  as  of  down-ruining  land.  Desiree  sprang  to 
her  feet  and  went  and  pushed  aside  the  ivy.  Thick  smoke  hung  over 
a  salient  some  distance  to  the  right;  she  saw  men  running.  Though 
she  had  never  seen  a  mine  exploded,  she  knew  it  for  what  it  was.  She 
watched  the  thickest  of  the  smoke  lift  and  drift  aside,  she  saw  that 
the  flag  still  waved  from  the  salient  and  she  gathered  from  the  steadi 
ness  of  the  world  in  general  and  the  rhythmic  pursuance  of  the 
cannonading  that  the  mine  had  not  been  large,  or  had  failed  of  its 
full  intent.  She  knew,  however,  that  in  the  salient  there  had  been 
moments  of  destruction  and  anguish. 

Sleep  was  driven  from  her  eyes.  She  sat  down  upon  the  bench 
without  the  door.  It  was  the  blazing  afternoon.  She  saw  the  air 
upquivering  from  the  baked  earth,  the  ruined  wall.  The  neglected 
garden  looked  dead  with  sultriness.  Beyond,  in  the  heat,  she  saw  the 
camps,  tents,  huts  of  dried  boughs,  small  wooden  structures.  From 
them  to  the  front  ran  strange  geometric  lines  that  were  the  covered 


i3 8  CEASE   FIRING 

ways.  She  saw  the  sentries,  small,  metallic-looking  figures.  Then 
came  trenches,  breastworks,  redan.  Smoke  was  over  them,  but  here 
and  there  it  gave  and  let  through  the  red  points  of  flags,  or  a  vision 
of  soldiers.  The  horizon  all  around  stood  a  wall  of  murk  torn  by  red 
flashes.  That  the  air  rocked  with  sound  was  now  a  matter  of  course. 
The  ear  was  accustomed  to  it,  as  to  the  roar  of  a  familiar  cataract, 
or  as  mechanics  and  mill-hands  might  be  to  the  roar  of  machinery. 
Distracting  sound  ceased  to  be  distracting.  The  attention  went 
where  it  was  needed,  as  in  the  silence  of  the  desert.  Desiree  sat 
with  her  hands  in  her  lap,  staring  into  the  heat  and  light.  She  sat 
with  a  certain  look  of  the  Sphinx,  accepting  the  spectator's  place, 
since  the  ages  had  fixed  her  there,  and  yet  with  a  dim  and  inner 
query  that  raised  the  corners  of  her  lips. 

A  squad  of  soldiers  came  by,  paused  and  asked  if  they  might  get 
water.  When  they  came  back  from  the  spring  she  stopped  them  with 
her  eyes. 

"Did  the  mine  do  much  harm  ?" 

"No,  'm,  mighty  little,  considering.  It  hurt  a  dozen  men  and  gave 
us  some  digging  and  mending  to  do  to-night.  Good  for  us,  I  reckon! 
We  all  are  so  awful  lazy  —  serving  only  twenty  out  of  twenty-four 
hours!" 

"Yes,"  said  Desiree.  "I've  observed  how  lazy  you  are.  There 
never  were  soldiers  who  did  better  than  you  are  doing.  —  Is  there 
any  news?" 

"They've  got  their  sap  rollers  within  a  hundred  feet  of  us.  I've 
got  an  idea  that  I'm  going  to  give  the  captain.  If  you'd  soak  wads 
of  cotton  in  turpentine,  and  wrap  them  in  pieces  of  match  and  fire 
them  from  an  old  large-bore  gun  into  them  rollers,  you  might  burn 
the  darned  things  up!" 

"  Two  of  the  men  who  went  after  caps  got  in  at  dawn  this  morning." 

"Two  —  ?" 

"  Yes,  Jm.  Captain  Saunders  and  Walker.  They  brought  two  hun 
dred  thousand  caps  between  them.  They  had  a  lively  time  getting 
out,  and  a  livelier  getting  in." 

"  The  others  — ?" 

"  They  have  n't  been  heard  from.  It  was  n't  an  easy  job !  I  reckon 
if  we  get  two  back  —  and  that  many  caps  —  it 's  as  good  as  we  could 
expect." 


THE   SIEGE  139 

The  day  declined.  The  sun  went  down  like  a  red  cannon  ball.  The 
cannonading  ceased;  the  minies  ceased.  Slowly  the  smoke  drifted 
away  and  let  the  stars  be  seen.  The  silence  after  sound  oppressed, 
oppressed !  Desiree  sat  still  upon  the  bench.  The  moon  rose,  round 
and  white,  mounted  and  made  the  world  spectral.  At  last  she  stood 
up.  She  raised  and  opened  her  arms,  then  closed  them  on  each  other 
and  wrung  her  hands.  Then  she  went  out  of  the  night  without  to 
that  within  the  cave.  The  moon  came  strongly  in.  When,  presently, 
she  lay  down  upon  the  pallet,  she  drew  her  eyes  and  forehead  out  of 
the  pool  of  silver.  Edward  1  Edward ! 

Between  the  dead  night  and  the  first  dawn,  an  hour  before  the 
sharpshooters  would  begin,  she  suddenly  sat  up,  then  rose  to  her 
feet.  The  moonlight  was  gone  from  the  floor;  there  was  only  the 
unearthly  hush  and  ebb  of  the  hour.  She  moved  to  the  entrance, 
pushed  aside  the  ivy,  and  stood  with  held  breath.  Though  she  could 
not  see  him,  she  knew  when  he  turned  in  at  the  ruined  gate.  A  mo 
ment  and  his  voice  was  in  her  ears.  "  Desiree ! "  —  another,  and  they 
were  clasped  in  each  other's  arms.  "I  got  in  an  hour  ago  —  with  the 
caps.  I  have  till  dawn." 

Throughout  the  seventh  and  eighth  of  June  the  firing  from  the 
mortars  was  very  heavy  and  the  Federal  digging,  digging  continued. 
The  grey  private's  device  was  adopted  and  a  number  of  sap  rollers 
were  set  afire  and  destroyed,  exposing  the  sappers  behind  and  com 
pelling  fresh  beginnings.  On  the  Jackson  road,  before  Hebert's 
lines,  the  blue  were  using  for  screen  cotton  bales  piled  high  upon  a 
flatcar.  This  shield  also  was  fired  by  musket  balls  wrapped  in  tur 
pentine  and  tow.  Bales  and  car  went  up  in  flames.  The  grey  began 
new  rifle-pits,  and  in  the  redans  they  collected  thundering  barrels 
and  loaded  shells.  There  was  a  feeling  of  impending  assault.  Now, 
too,  began  night  sallies  —  Federal  attacks  upon  the  picket  lines, 
Confederate  repulses.  Sentinel  duty,  heavy  from  the  first,  grew  ever 
more  heavy.  Men  fought  during  the  day,  and  the  same  men  watched 
at  night.  Day  and  night  the  trenches  must  be  manned.  The  lines 
were  long,  and  by  now  there  were  barely  eighteen  thousand  grey 
effectives.  They  lived  perforce  in  the  trenches;  they  had  no  relief 
from  the  narrow  ditches.  The  sun  of  a  Southern  June  blistered  and 
baked;  then  came  torrential  rains  and  soaked  all  things;  then  the  sun 
shone  again  and  the  heavens  became  an  inverted  bowl  of  brass.  On 


CEASE   FIRING 

the  twelfth  of  June  the  troops  were  put  on  half-rations;  a  little  later, 
these,  too,  were  reduced.  The  water  grew  low  and  very  impure! 
There  were  so  many  dead  bodies  —  men  and  animals.  Fever  ap 
peared  in  every  main  work,  and  in  every  trench.  Men  lifted  their 
muskets  with  shaking  hands. 


O 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ACROSS  THE  POTOMAC 

N  the  thirteenth  of  June,  Ewell  and  the  Second  Corps  forded 
the  Potomac. 

"Come!  'T  is  the  red  dawn  of  the  day, 
Maryland!" 

sang  the  men. 

"  Come  with  thy  panoplied  array, 

Maryland!  .  .  . 
Come,  for  thy  shield  is  bright  and  strong, 

Maryland ! 

Come,  for  thy  dalliance  does  thee  wrong, 
Maryland!  ..." 

From  the  thirteenth  to  the  twenty-first  they  bivouacked  on  and 
near  the  battle-field  of  Sharpsburg.  By  now  they  were  used  to 
revisiting  battle-fields.  Kernstown  —  Manassas  —  many  another 
stricken  field;  they  knew  them  once,  they  knew  them  twice,  they 
knew  them  times  again!  On  the  twenty-first,  Ewell  had  orders  from 
Lee  to  march  northward  into  Pennsylvania,  then  eastwardly  upon 
Harrisburg  on  the  Susquehanna.  "Old  Dick"  broke  camp  at  dawn 
of  the  twenty-second. 

South  of  the  Potomac  waited  Lee  with  the  First  and  Third  Corps. 
He  waited  watching  "Fighting  Joe  Hooker,"  willing  to  give  him 
battle  in  Virginia  if  he  so  elected.  On  the  twentieth  he  sent  a  dis 
patch  from  Berryville  to  Richmond,  to  Mr.  Davis. 

MR.  PRESIDENT:  —  I  have  the  honour  to  report,  for  the  informa 
tion  of  your  Excellency,  that  General  Imboden  has  destroyed  the 
bridges  on  the  Baltimore  and  Ohio  Railroad  over  Evarts's  Creek, 
near  Cumberland;  the  long  bridge  across  the  Chesapeake  and  Ohio 
Canal  below  Cumberland;  the  iron  bridge  across  the  North  Branch 
of  the  Potomac,  with  the  wooden  trestle  adjoining  it;  the  double- 
span  bridge  across  the  mouth  of  Patterson's  Creek;  the  Fink's 


142  CEASE   FIRING 

patent  iron  bridge  across  the  mouth  of  the  South  Branch  of  the 
Potomac,  three  spans  of  133  1-3  feet  each,  and  the  wooden  bridge 
over  Little  Cacapon. 

All  the  depots,  water  tanks,  and  engines  between  the  Little 
Cacapon  and  the  Cumberland  are  also  destroyed,  with  the  block 
houses  at  the  mouth  of  the  South  Branch  and  Patterson's  Creek. 

The  Chesapeake  and  Ohio  Canal,  about  two  miles  above  Old 
Town,  where  the  embankment  is  about  forty  feet  high,  has  been 
cut,  and  General  Imboden  reports  that  when  he  left  it  the  entire 
embankment  for  about  fifty  yards  had  been  swept  away. 

A  similar  crevasse  with  like  results  was  also  made  in  the  canal 
about  four  miles  from  Old  Town. 

Lieutenant-Colonel  White,  of  the  cavalry,  has  also  cut  the  Balti 
more  and  Ohio  Railroad,  east  of  the  Point  of  Rocks. 

General  Milroy  has  abandoned  the  south  side  of  the  Potomac, 
occupying  Harper's  Ferry  with  a  picket,  and  holds  the  Maryland 
Heights  with  about  eight  thousand  men. 

General  Ewell's  corps  is  north  of  the  Potomac,  occupying  Sharps- 
burg,  Boonsborough,  and  Hagerstown.  His  advance  cavalry  is  at 
Chambersburg,  Pennsylvania. 

The  First  Division  of  General  A.  P.  Hill's  corps  will  reach  this 
vicinity  to-day;  the  rest  follow. 

General  Longstreet's  corps  with  Stuart's  cavalry  still  occupy  the 
Blue  Ridge  between  the  roads  leading  through  Ashby's  and  Snick 
er's  Gaps,  holding  in  check  a  large  force  of  the  enemy,  consisting 
of  cavalry,  infantry,  and  artillery. 

The  movement  of  the  main  body  of  the  enemy  is  still  toward  the 
Potomac,  but  its  real  destination  is  not  yet  discovered.  .  .  . 

If  any  of  the  brigades  that  I  have  left  behind  for  the  protection  of 
Richmond  can,  in  your  opinion,  be  spared,  I  should  like  them  to  be 
sent  to  me. 

I  am,  with  great  respect,  your  obedient  servant, 

R.  E.  LEE,  General. 

Several  days  later,  Ewell  being  now  so  advanced  that  support  for 
him  was  absolutely  necessary,  Longstreet  was  withdrawn  from  the 
edge  of  the  Blue  Ridge.  With  the  First  Corps  he  crossed  the  Poto 
mac  at  Williamsport.  A.  P.  Hill  and  the  Third  followed,  crossing  at 


ACROSS   THE   POTOMAC  143 

Shepherdstown.  At  Hagerstown  the  two  corps  united  and  the 
resulting  column  moved  northward  into  Pennsylvania. 

Now  Jeb  Stuart's  only  fault  was  that  he  too  dearly  loved  a  raid. 
He  applied  to  Lee  for  permission  to  take  three  brigades,  thread  the 
Bull  Run  Mountains,  attain  the  enemy's  rear,  pass  between  his 
main  body  and  Washington  and  so  cross  into  Maryland,  joining  the 
army  somewhere  north  of  the  Potomac.  Now  Lee's  only  fault  was 
an  occasional  too  gracious  complaisance,  a  too  moderate  estimate 
of  his  own  judgment,  a  willingness  to  try  for  what  they  were  worth 
the  suggestions  of  subordinates.  With  entire  justice  he  loved  and 
trusted  Stuart  and  admired  his  great  abilities.  He  permitted  the  de 
flection  of  the  cavalry  —  only  the  cavalry  must  keep  him  cognizant 
of  every  move  of  the  enemy.  If  Hooker  finally  crossed  the  Poto 
mac,  he  must  know  it  at  once,  and  at  once  Stuart  must  fall  in  upon 
the  right  of  the  grey  army  of  invasion. 

Ewell  at  Sharpsburg  broke  camp  at  dawn  of  the  twenty-second. 
Followed  a  week  of,  on  the  whole,  tranquil  progress.  "Old  Dick's" 
marches  were  masterly  done.  Reveille  sounded  at  dawn.  An  hour 
later  the  troops  were  on  the  road.  Unhurrying  and  undelayed, 
they  made  each  day  a  good  march  and  bivouacked  with  the  setting 
sun. 

How  fair  seemed  the  rich  Pennsylvania  countryside !  The  Valley 
of  Virginia  had  worn  that  aspect  before  the  war.  It,  too,  had  had 
yellow  wheat-fields  and  orchards  and  turning  mill  wheels.  It,  too, 
had  had  good  brick  country-houses  and  great  barns  and  peaceful 
towns  and  roads  that  were  mended  when  they  were  worn.  It,  too, 
had  had  fences  and  walls  and  care.  It  had  had  cattle  in  lush  mead 
ows.  "Land  of  Goshen!"  said  EwelPs  soldiers.  "To  think  we  were 
like  this  once!" 

"Well,  we  will  be  again." 

"Listen  to  old  Cheerfulness!  And  yet  I  reckon  he's  right,  I 
reckon  he's  right,  I  reckon  he's  right!" 

"Of  course  he's  right!  I  couldn't  be  low-spirited  if  I  tried. 
Hallelujah!" 

The  Second  Corps  did  not  try.  No  more  did  the  First  nor  the 
Third.  The  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  was  in  good  spirits.  Behind 
it  lay  some  weeks  of  rest  and  recuperation ;  behind  that  the  victory 
of  the  Wilderness.  Worn  and  inadequate  enough  as  it  was,  yet  this 


i44  CEASE  FIRING 

army's  equipment  was  better  to-day  than  it  had  been.  It  had  the 
spoils  of  great  battle-fields.  Artillery  was  notably  bettered;  cavalry 
was  fit  and  fine ;  infantry  a  seasoned  veteran  who  thought  of  a  time 
without  war  as  of  some  remote  golden  age.  The  Army  of  Northern 
Virginia  was  now  organized  as  it  had  not  been  organized  before  for 
efficiency.  It  numbered  between  sixty  and  seventy  thousand  men. 
It  had  able  major-  and  lieutenant-generals  and  a  very  great  com 
manding  general.  It  was  veteran,  eager  for  action,  confident,  with 
victories  behind  it.  There  was  something  lifted  in  the  spirit  of  the 
men.  Behind  them,  across  the  Potomac,  lay  a  devastated  land,  — 
their  land,  their  home,  their  mother  country!  Before  them  lay  a 
battle,  a  great  battle,  the  greatest  battle  yet,  perhaps!  Win  it  — 
win  it!  and  see  a  great  rainbow  of  promise,  glorious  and  bright,  arch 
itself  over  the  land  beyond  the  river,  the  land  darkened,  devastated, 
and  beloved!  .  .  .  Before  them,  as  they  marched,  marched  a  vision 
of  dead  leaders  :  Shiloh  and  Albert  Sidney  Johnston  —  Port  Re 
public  and  Ashby  —  Chancellorsville  and  Stonewall  Jackson  — 
of  many  dead  leaders,  and  of  a  many  and  a  many  dead  comrades. 
The  vision  did  not  hurt;  it  helped.  It  did  not  weaken  their  hearts; 
it  strengthened  them. 

The  Stonewall  Brigade  found  itself  in  good  heart  and  upon  the 
road  to  Greencastle.  It  was  a  sunny  June  day  and  a  sunny  June  road 
with  oxheart  cherry  trees  at  intervals.  Corps,  divisions,  brigades, 
regiments,  companies  —  one  and  all  had  orders,  calm  and  complete, 
not  to  plunder.  "The  Commanding  General,"  ran  Lee's  general 
order,  "earnestly  exhorts  the  troops  to  abstain  with  most  scrupulous 
care  from  unnecessary  or  wanton  injury  to  private  property,  and  he 
enjoins  upon  all  officers  to  arrest  and  bring  to  summary  punishment  all 
who  shall  in  any  way  of  end  against  the  orders  on  this  subject."  To  the 
credit  of  a  poorly  clad  army,  out  of  a  land  famished  and  fordone,  be 
it  said  that  the  orders  were  obeyed.  The  army  was  in  an  enemy's 
land,  a  land  of  plenty,  but  the  noncombatant  farming-people  of  that 
land  suffered  but  little  in  purse  or  property  and  not  at  all  in  person. 
"I  was  told,"  writes  a  good  grey  artilleryman,  "by  the  inhabitants 
that  they  suffered  less  from  our  troops  than  from  their  own,  and 
that  if  compelled  to  have  either  they  preferred  having  the  'rebels' 
camped  upon  their  land.  I  saw  no  plundering  whatever,  except  that 
once  or  twice  I  did  see  branches  laden  with  fruit  broken  from  cherry 


ACROSS   THE   POTOMAC  145 

trees.  Of  course  it  goes  without  saying  that  the  quartermasters, 
especially  of  artillery  battalions,  were  confessedly,  and  of  malice 
aforethought,  horse- thieves!" 

The  Sixty-fifth  Virginia  admired  the  Cumberland  Valley.  "It 
looks  for  all  the  world  like  the  picture  of  Beulah  land  in  a  'Pilgrim's 
Progress'  I  got  as  a  prize  for  learning  the  most  Bible  verses!"  — 
"This  landscape  makes  me  want  to  cry.  It  looks  so  —  so  —  so 
damn  peaceful."  —  "That's  so!  They  don't  have  to  glean  no 
battle-fields.  They're  busy  reaping  wheat."  —  "Cherries!  Those 
cherries  are  as  big  as  winesaps.  I'm  going  to  have  cherry  pie 

to-night,  — 

"  Can  she  make  a  cherry  pie, 

Billyboy,  Billyboy? 
Can  she  make  a  cherry  pie, 
Charming  Billy?" 

"Did  you  hear  Early's  boys  tell  about  'Extra  Billy'  at  Winches 
ter?"  —  "No."  —  "Well,  't  was  the  artillery  going  by  at  a  gallop 
to  occupy  a  work  they  had  just  taken,  going  by  the  lying-down  in 
fantry,  and  Milroy's  other  batteries  blazing  against  them  from  the 
other  hills,  and  the  Yankee  sharpshooters  just  as  busy  as  bees.  And 
the  lying-down  infantry  just  cocked  its  eye  up  from  the  earth  and 
said,  'Go  it,  boys!'  But  ex-Governor  William  Smith  ain't  made  like 
that.  He  stood  up  before  his  regiment  just  as  graceful  and  easy  as  if 
he  was  going  to  make  a  speech,  with  the  blue  cotton  umbrella  over  his 
shoulder,  and  when  that  artillery  came  thundering  by,  by  jingo!  he 
began  bowing  to  every  man  and  some  of  the  horses!  He  just  stood 
there  and  beamed  and  bowed  —  good  old  Governor!  Everybody 
knew  that  he'd  just  forgotten  and  thought  that  he  was  at  a  political 
meeting."  —  "Probably  he  did.  War's  an  awful  intensifier  and  a 
kind  of  wizard  that  puts  a  year  in  a  day,  but  if  a  man 's  been  habitu 
ated  one  way  for  fifty  years  he'll  slip  back  into  it,  cannon  balls  not 
withstanding."  —  "There's  a  spring-house  and  a  woman  churning! 
Buttermilk  / "  —  "  Reckon  she 's  got  any  cherry  pies  ?  Reckon  she  'd 
sell  them  to  us  ?  Colonel  says  we  've  got  to  pay  —  pay  good  Con 
federate  money!" 

The  Sixty-fifth  marched  on  upon  a  sunshiny  road,  beneath  blue 
sky,  between  crimson-fruited  cherry  trees.  Beyond  swelled  the 
green  and  gold  countryside,  so  peaceful.  .  .  .  Butterflies  fluttered, 


146  CEASE   FIRING 

honeybees  hummed,  birds  warbled.  Dinner  was  good  meat  and 
wheaten  bread,  taken  in  cheerful  meadows,  beneath  elms  and  pop 
lars.  Village  and  farmer  people  showed  themselves  not  tremend 
ously  hostile.  Small  boys  gathered,  happy  and  excited;  Dutch 
farmers,  anxiety  for  their  red  barns  appeased,  glowered  not  over 
much.  Women  were  stiffer  and  took  occasion  to  hum  or  sing  aloud 
patriotic  Northern  songs.  Southerners  are  a  polite  people,  and  the 
women  of  the  Cumberland  Valley  met  with  no  rudeness.  At  a 
cross-roads,  the  Sixty-fifth  passing  with  jingle  and  tramp,  a  Penn 
sylvania  carriage  horse,  that  had  never  snuffed  the  battle  from  afar, 
took  fright  at  the  grey  men  or  the  gleam  of  rifle  barrels  or  the  san 
guine  fluttering  colours.  Ensued  a  rearing  and  plunging,  and,  from 
the  phaeton  behind,  a  scream.  Lieutenant  Coffin  sprang  to  the 
rescue.  —  The  horse  stood  soothed,  though  trembling  a  little  still. 
"Thar  now!  thar  now!"  said  Billy  Maydew  at  the  reins.  The 
twelve-year-old  urchin  in  the  driver's  seat  glued  his  eyes  to  the 
marching  Sixty-fifth  and  gasped  with  delight.  The  sprigged  muslin 
and  straw  bonnet  in  the  embrace  of  the  phaeton  made  a  gallant  bid 
for  the  austerity  of  a  marble  monument. 

"You  wish  to  cross  the  road,  madam  ?  Or  can  you  wait  until  the 
column  has  passed  ?" 

"Oh,  wait,  please,  sister!  Golly!  Look  at  that  blue  flag!" 

"No,  I  cannot  wait.  I  wish  to  cross  now.  I  am  going  to  a  funeral." 

The  last  of  the  Sixty-fifth  passed  with  jingle  and  tramp.  The 
Fourth  was  seen  looming  through  the  mist.  Sergeant  Maydew  at 
the  horse's  head,  Lieutenant  Coffin  beside  the  phaeton  —  across  the 
highroad  was  conducted  straw  bonnet  and  sprigged  muslin.  The 
two  soldiers  stood  back,  Lieutenant  Coffin  making  a  courtly  bow. 
It  was  answered  by  a  stately  inclination  of  the  bonnet.  The  boy 
reluctantly  said,  "Get  up!"  to  the  horse,  and  the  phaeton  slowly 
climbed  a  flowery  hill. 

The  lieutenant  and  the  sergeant  strode  after  their  regiment.  "  She 
was  mighty  sweet  and  fine! "  volunteered  Billy.  "  I  like  that  dark, 
soft  kind,  like  pansies.  I  '11  tell  you  who  I  think  she  air  like.  She  air 
like  Miss  Miriam  Cleave  at  Three  Oaks." 

Coffin  considered.  "I  see  what  you  mean.  They  are  a  little  alike. 
.  .  .  Three  Oaks!" 

"I  used  to  think,"  said  Billy,  "that  I'd  be  right  happy  if  I  could 


ACROSS   THE   POTOMAC  147 

kill  you.  That  was  before  Port  Republic.  Then  I  used  to  think  I 'd 
be  right  happy  when  Allan  Gold  had  beat  spelling  into  me  and  I  'd  be 
made  sergeant.  And  after  Chancellorsville  I  thought  I  'd  be  right 
happy  if  General  Jackson  got  well.  But  I've  thought  right  along, 
ever  since  White  Oak  Swamp,  that  I'd  be  right  happy  if  the 
Sixty-fifth  had  back  the  only  colonel  I  Ve  ever  cared  much  for,  and 
that  air  Richard  Cleave!" 

In  the  afternoon  the  Sixty-fifth  came  to  the  town  of  Greencastle. 
It  looked  a  thriving  place,  and  it  had  shops  and  stores  filled  with  the 
most  beautiful  and  tempting  goods.  Back  home,  the  goods  were  all 
gone  from  the  stores,  the  old  stock  assimilated  and  the  new  never 
appearing.  The  shop  windows  of  Greencastle  looked  like  fairyland, 
a  hundred  Christmases  all  in  one.  "  Look-a-there !  Look  at  that 
ironware!" —  "Look  at  them  shirts  and  suspenders!  Coloured 
handkerchiefs."  —  "Fancy  soap  and  cologne  and  toothbrushes!"  - 
"I  wish  I  might  send  Sally  that  pink  calico  and  some  ribbons,  and 
a  hoop."  —  "Look  at  that  plough  —  that's  something  new!" 
"Figured  velvet  waistcoats."  •- "Lord  have  mercy!  this  is  the 
sinfullest  town  of  plutocrats!"-  "Try  them  with  Confederate 
money."  —  "Sure  Old  Dick  said  we  might  n't  take  just  a  little?"  - 
"Oh,  me!  oh,  me!  there's  a  shoe-store  and  a  hat-store  and  a  drug 
store."  -  "Say,  Mr.  Storekeeper,  would  you  take  for  that  pair  of 
shoes  a  brand-new  fifty-dollar  Richmond  Virginia  bank  note  with 
George  Washington  and  a  train  of  cars  on  it?"  —  "He  won't  sell. 
This  gilded  town's  got  so  much  money  it  does  n't  want  any  more  — 
tired  of  money."  -  "Disgusting  Vanity  Fair  kind  of  a  place!  Glad 
the  colonel  is  n't  going  to  halt  us!"  —  Don't  straggle,  men  I  —  "No, 
sir;  we  aren't!" 

Camp  was  clean  beyond  Greencastle  —  a  lovely  camp  quite  re 
moved  from  Vanity  Fair.  Apparently  the  quartermasters  had  been 
able  to  buy.  There  was  coffee  for  supper,  real  coffee,  real  sugar; 
there  were  light  biscuits  and  butter  and  roast  lamb.  A  crystal  stream 
purled  through  the  meadows;  upon  the  hilltops  wheat,  partly 
shocked,  stood  against  the  rosy  sky.  The  evening  was  cool  and 
sweet  and  the  camp-fires  for  a  long  way,  up  and  down  and  on  either 
side  the  road,  burned  with  a  steady  flame.  The  men  lay  upon  the 
earth  like  dusty  acorns  shaken  from  invisible  branches.  At  the  foot 
of  the  hills  the  battery  and  wagon  horses  cropped  the  sweet  grass. 


148  CEASE  FIRING 

The  good  horses !  —  their  ribs  did  not  show  as  they  did  on  the  Vir 
ginia  side  of  the  Potomac.  They  were  faring  well  in  Pennsylvania. 
Rank  and  file,  men  and  horses,  guns  and  wagon  train,  the  Second 
Corps,  Rodes  and  Jubal  Early  and  "Alleghany"  Johnson,  and 
"Dear  Dick  Ewell"  at  the  head, —  the  Second  Corps  was  in 
spirits.  To-night  it  was  as  buoyant  as  a  cork  or  a  rubber  ball.  Where 
there  were  bands  the  bands  played,  played  the  sprightliest  airs  in 
their  repertory.  Harry  Hays's  Creoles  danced,  leaping  like  fauns 
in  the  dying  sunset  and  the  firelight,  in  a  trodden  space  beneath 
beech  trees. 

The  next  morning  Rodes  and  Johnson  pursued  the  road  to 
Chambersburg,  but  Early's  division  took  the  Gettysburg  and 
York  road,  having  orders  to  cut  the  Northern  Central  Railroad 
running  from  Baltimore  to  Harrisburg,  and  to  destroy  the  bridge 
across  the  Susquehanna  at  Wrightsville  and  rejoin  at  Carlisle. 
Ahead  went  Gordon's  Georgia  brigade  and  White's  battalion  of 
cavalry. 

The  town  of  Gettysburg,  where  they  made  boots  and  shoes,  lay 
among  orchards  and  gardens  at  the  foot  of  the  South  Mountain.  It 
numbered  four  thousand  inhabitants,  a  large  place  for  those  days. 
It  lay  between  the  waters  that  drain  into  the  Susquehanna  and  the 
waters  that  drain  into  the  Potomac  and  commanded  all  the  country 
roads.  On  the  outskirts  of  this  place,  a  place  not  marked  out  on  that 
day  from  other  places  on  the  map,  White's  cavalry  encountered  a 
regiment  of  militia.  The  militia  did  not  stand,  but  fled  to  either  side 
the  macadamized  road,  through  the  midsummer  fields.  A  hundred 
and  seventy-five  were  taken  prisoner.  On  through  Gettysburg 
marched  Gordon  and  the  cavalry,  the  people  watching  from  the 
windows,  and  took  the  pike  to  York.  Behind  them  came  "Old  Jube," 
marching  in  light  order,  having  sent  his  trains  to  Chambersburg, 
"excepting  the  ambulances,  one  medical  wagon  for  a  brigade,  the 
regimental  ordnance  wagons,  one  wagon  with  cooking-utensils 
for  each  regiment,  and  fifteen  empty  wagons  to  gather  supplies 
with." 

It  came  on  to  rain.  The  troops  bivouacked  somewhat  comfort 
lessly  a  mile  or  two  out  on  the  York  road.  Two  thousand  rations 
were  found  in  a  train  of  cars.  When  they  had  been  removed  the  cars 
were  set  afire,  and  in  addition  a  railroad  bridge  hard  by.  These 


ACROSS   THE   POTOMAC  149 

burned  with  no  cheer  in  the  flames  seen  through  a  thick  veil  of 
chilly  rain.  "I  don't  care  if  I  never  see  Gettysburg  again!"  said 
the  division. 

At  dawn  rang  the  bugles.  The  rain  was  over,  the  sun  came  up, 
breakfast  was  good,  the  country  smiled,  the  division  had  a  light 
heart.  All  this  day  they  made  a  good  march,  through  a  pleasant 
country,  leading  to  York.  The  cavalry'  was  on  ahead  toward  Han 
over  Junction,  destroying  railroad  bridges.  Gordon  and  his  Georg 
ians  acted  vanguard  for  the  infantry.  Of  the  main  body,  Brigadier- 
General  William  Smith  with  the  Thirty-first,  Forty-ninth,  and 
Fifty-second  Virginia  headed  the  column.  By  reaped  wheat  and 
waving  corn,  by  rich  woods  and  murmuring  streams,  under  blue  sky 
and  to  the  song  of  birds,  through  a  land  of  plenty  and  prosperity, 
the  grey  column  moved  pleasantly  on  to  York,  and  at  sunset 
bivouacked  within  a  mile  or  two  of  that  place. 

Out  to  Gordon's  camp-fire  came  a  deputation — the  mayor  of  York 
and  prominent  citizens.  Gordon,  handsome  and  gallant,  received 
them  with  his  accustomed  courtesy.  "Their  object,"  he  reports, 
"being  to  make  a  peaceable  surrender,  and  ask  for  protection  to 
life  and  property.  They  returned,  I  think,  with  a  feeling  of  assured 
safety." 

The  next  day  was  Sunday  —  a  clear  midsummer  Sunday,  the 
serene  air  filled  with  church  bells.  Gordon's  men,  occupying  York, 
found  well-dressed  throngs  upon  the  sidewalks,  in  the  doorways, 
leaning  from  the  windows.  Confederate  soldiers  had  always  to  hope 
that  the  inner  man  could  not  be  hidden,  but  shone  excellently  forth 
from  the  bizarrest  ragged  apparel.  Sunburnt,  with  longish  hair, 
gaunt  yet,  despite  a  fortnight  with  the  flesh  pots  of  this  Egypt,creat- 
ure  of  shred  and  patches  and  all  covered  with  the  whitish  dust  of  a 
macadamized  road  —  it  needed  some  insight  to  read  how  sweet  and 
sound,  on  the  whole,  was  the  kernel  within  so  weather-beaten  a 
shell.  Now  Gordon  was  the  Southern  gentleman  at  his  best.  "Con 
federate  pride,  to  say  nothing  of  Southern  gallantry,"  reports  Gordon, 
"was  subjected  to  the  sorest  trial  by  the  consternation  produced 
among  the  ladies  of  York.  .  .  .  I  assured  these  ladies  that  the  troops 
behind  me,  though  ill-clad  and  travel-stained,  were  good  men  and 
brave;  that  beneath  their  rough  exteriors  were  hearts  as  loyal  to 
women  as  ever  beat  in  the  breasts  of  honourable  men;  that  their  own 


150  CEASE  FIRING 

experience  and  the  experience  of  their  mothers,  wives,  and  sisters  at 
home  had  taught  them  how  painful  must  be  the  sight  of  a  hostile 
army  in  their  town;  that  under  the  orders  of  the  Confederate  Com- 
mander-in-Chief  both  private  property  and  noncombatants  were 
safe;  that  the  spirit  of  vengeance  and  rapine  had  no  place  in  the 
bosoms  of  these  dust-covered  but  knightly  men;  and  I  closed  by 
pledging  to  York  the  head  of  any  soldier  under  my  command  who 
destroyed  private  property,  disturbed  the  repose  of  a  single  home, 
or  insulted  a  woman." 

Gordon  made  no  tarrying  in  York,  but  moved  on  toward  Wrights- 
ville,  with  orders  to  burn  the  long  railroad  bridge  crossing  the  Sus- 
quehanna.  A  few  hours  later  marched  in  Early's  advance  brigade  — 
General  ex-Governor  William  Smith  on  a  fine  horse  at  its  head. 
Now  this  brigade  had  a  very  good  band,  as  bands  went  in  the  Con 
federate  service,  and  this  band  proposed  to  enter  York  playing 
"  Dixie  " !  Indeed,  they  had  begun  the  familiar  strains  when  an  aide 
appeared,  "General  says  you  'tooting  fellows'  are  temporarily  to 
lay  that  air  in  lavender.  When  you  are  in  Rome,  play  what  Rome 
likes,  or,  in  other  words,  Virginians,  take  your  manners  along!  He 
says  come  up  front  and  play  'Yankee  Doodle."1 

York  was  out  of  doors  for  this  brigade  as  it  had  been  for  Gordon's. 
In  the  sunny  mid-afternoon,  the  column  swung  into  its  main  street, 
"Extra  Billy"  riding  at  the  head,  beaming  like  the  sun.  Hero  of  a 
hundred  hustings,  he  always  took  his  manners  with  him;  and  indeed, 
as  they  came  from  his  heart,  he  could  not  do  otherwise.  At  the  head 
of  town  he  took  off  his  hat,  kept  it  in  his  hand,  and  began  bowing 
right  and  left,  always  with  his  hearty,  beamy  smile.  Behind  him 
rode  his  smiling  staff,  and  behind  staff  came  the  band,  horns  and 
drums  giving  "Yankee  Doodle." 

The  citizens  of  York  upon  the  sidewalks — and  they  were  crowded 
—  developed  a  tendency  to  keep  pace  with  the  head  of  the  column. 
It  presently  arrived  that  General  William  Smith^  like  a  magnet,  was 
carrying  with  him  a  considerable  portion  of  the  population.  Before 
the  procession  opened  the  public  square,  bathed  in  a  happy  light. 
The  band,  having  come  to  an  end  of  "Yankee  Doodle,"  played 
"Dixie,"  then  slipped  again  into  the  first,  then  happily  blended  the 
two.  Staff  was  laughing,  regimental  officers  broadly  smiling,  the 
troops  behind  in  the  best  of  spirits.  All  poured  into  the  sunny 


ACROSS   THE   POTOMAC  151 

square,  where  were  more  of  the  inhabitants  of  York.  "Tell  'em  to 
halt,"  ordered  the  ex-Governor, "  and  tell  those  tooting  fellows  to 
stop  both  tunes.  These  are  nice  people  and  I  am  going  to  give  them 
a  speech." 

He  gave  it,  sitting  very  firm  on  his  fine  horse,  to  an  open-mouthed- 
and-eyed  crowd,  behind  him  the  troops  at  rest,  the  whole  throng, 
invaded  and  invaders,  filling  the  square  and  the  street.  He  spoke  in 
his  geniallest  fashion,  with  his  mellowest  voice  and  happiest  allu 
sions.  The  warm,  yellow,  late  June  sunshine  flooded  the  square, 
lighting  the  curious  throng,  and  that  worn,  grey,  citizen  soldiery, 
making  a  splendour  of  the  brass  instruments  of  the  band  and  wrap 
ping  General  William  Smith  in  a  toga  of  airy  gold.  "Ladies  and 
gentlemen  (and  York  has  such  beautiful  ladies),"  spoke  "Extra 
Billy,"  "as  you  see,  we  are  back  in  the  Union!  May  we  not  hope 
that  you  are  glad  to  see  us  ?  I  assure  you  that  we  are  glad  to  see 
you !  I  wish  that  we  were  dressed  for  visiting,  but  you  '11  excuse  us, 
we  know !  What  we  all  need  on  both  sides  is  to  mingle  more  with 
each  other,  so  that  we  shall  learn  to  know  and  appreciate  each 
other's  good  qualities.  Now — " 

From  behind  arose  a  murmur.  The  aides  looked  over  their  shoul 
ders  and  beheld  a  pushing  to  the  front  on  the  part  of  some  person  or 
persons.  Whatever  it  was,  cavalry  squad  trying  to  pass,  aides,  or 
couriers,  general  officer,  and  staff — there  was  difficulty  in  attracting 
the  attention  of  the  grinning,  absorbed  troops  sufficiently  to  let  the 
party  by. 

"Now,"  continued  General  William  Smith,  "we  are  n't  at  all  the 
villains  and  cut- throats  that  you've  been  seeing  in  your  dreams! 
Clothes  don't  make  the  man,  and  we  're  better  than  our  outfit. 
When  this  little  rumpus  is  all  over  and  you  come  visiting  us  in  the 
Confederacy  of  the  South  (and  I  hope  that  the  beautiful  ladies  of 
York  will  come  often  and  come  in  summer-time,  for  we  want  to 
have  a  tournament  and  crown  them  all  Queens  of  Love  and  Beauty) 
—  when  this  little  border  war  is  over,  I  say  — " 

The  party  from  the  rear  had  now  got  to  the  front.  A  thin,  stoop- 
shouldered  man,  with  a  long,  thin  beard  and  glittering,  small  black 
eyes,  rose  in  his  stirrups,  leaned  forward,  and  brought  a  vehement 
hand  down  upon  " Extra  Billy's"  shoulder.  His  voice  followed  — 
Jubal  A.  Early 's  voice  —  a  fierce  sing-song  treble.  "  General  Smith, 


152  CEASE  FIRING 

what  the  Devil  are  you  about?  —  stopping  the  head  of  this  column 
in  this  cursed  town!" 

"Extra  Billy's"  smile,  manly  and  beaming  and  fearless,  stayed 
with  him.  "Why,  General,  just  having  a  little  fun!  Good  for  us  all, 
sir;  good  for  us  all!" 

Smith's  brigade  moved  on,  to  be  followed  by  Hoke's  and  Harry 
Hays's.  Camp  was  pitched  a  mile  or  two  out  of  town,  "Old  Jube," 
however,  resting  with  Avery's  command  in  York.  "I  made,"  he  re 
ports,  "requisition  upon  the  authorities  for  2000  pairs  of  shoes,  1000 
hats,  1000  pairs  of  socks,  $100,000  in  money,  and  three  days'  rations 
of  all  kinds.  Subsequently  between  1200  and  1500  pairs  of  shoes, 
the  hats,  socks,  and  rations  were  furnished,  but  only  $28,600  in 
money,  which  was  paid  to  my  quartermaster,  the  mayor  and  other 
authorities  protesting  their  inability  to  get  any  more  money,  as  it 
had  all  been  run  off  previously,  and  I  was  satisfied  they  made  an 
honest  effort  to  raise  the  amount  called  for." 

He  continues:  "A  short  time  before  night,  I  rode  out  in  the  direc 
tion  of  Columbia  Bridge,  to  ascertain  the  result  of  Gordon's  expedi 
tion,  and  had  not  proceeded  far  before  I  saw  an  immense  smoke 
rising  in  the  direction  of  the  Susquehanna,  which  I  subsequently  dis 
covered  to  proceed  from  the  bridge  in  question.  This  bridge  was  one 
mile  and  a  quarter  in  length,  the  superstructure  being  of  wood  on 
stone  pillars,  and  it  included  in  one  structure  a  railroad  bridge,  a  pass- 
way  for  wagons,  and  also  a  tow-path  for  the  canal  which  here  crosses 
the  Susquehanna.  The  bridge  was  entirely  consumed,  and  from  it 
the  town  of  Wrightsville  caught  fire,  and  several  buildings  were 
consumed,  but  the  farther  progress  of  the  flames  was  arrested  by  the 
exertions  of  Gordon's  men.  .  .  .  On  the  evening  of  the  twenty- 
ninth,  I  received  through  Captain  Elliott  Johnston,  aide  to  General 
Ewell,  a  copy  of  a  note  from  General  Lee  which  required  me  to 
move  back  so  as  to  rejoin  the  rest  of  the  corps  on  the  western  side 
of  the  South  Mountain,  and  accordingly,  at  daylight  on  the  morn 
ing  of  the  thirtieth,  I  put  my  whole  command  in  motion.  ...  I 
encamped  about  three  miles  from  Heidlersburg,  and  rode  to  see 
General  Ewell  at  that  point,  and  was  informed  by  him  that  the 
object  was  to  concentrate  the  corps  at  or  near  Cashtown,  and  I 
received  directions  to  move  next  day  at  that  point.  .  .  .  After 
passing  Heidlersburg  a  short  distance,  I  received  a  note  from  Gen- 


ACROSS   THE   POTOMAC  153 

eral  Ewell  informing  me  that  General  Hill  was  moving  from  Cash- 
town  towards  Gettysburg,  and  that  General  Rodes  had  turned  off 
at  Middletown  and  was  moving  toward  the  same  place,  and  direct 
ing  me  also  to  move  to  that  point.  I  therefore  continued  to  move  on 
the  road  I  was  then  on  toward  Gettysburg.  ..." 

From  Greencastle,  Rodes  and  Johnson,  Ewell  riding  at  the  head 
of  the  column,  had  marched  to  Chambersburg  and  thence  to  Car 
lisle.  They  reached  the  latter  place  on  the  twenty-seventh.  On  this 
day  Robert  E.  Lee,  with  Longstreet  and  A.  P.  Hill,  the  First  and 
Third  Corps,  bivouacked  near  Chambersburg. 

With  the  grand  patience  which  he  habitually  exercised,  Lee 
waited  for  tidings  from  Stuart.  There  was  room  for  intense  im 
patience.  His  cavalry  leader,  who  was  to  keep  him  informed  of  the 
least  move  upon  the  board  of  the  other  colour,  had  failed  to  do  so. 
Four  days  in  the  enemy's  country,  and  no  news  of  Stuart  and  no 
news  of  the  blue  host  south  of  the  Potomac !  Was  it  still  south  of  the 
Potomac?  Surely  so,  or  Stuart's  couriers,  one  after  the  other,  would 
have  come  riding  in!  Surely  so,  or  Stuart  himself  would  be  here, 
falling  in  on  the  right  as  ordered!  With  entire  justice  the  grey  com 
mander  loved  and  trusted  the  grey  cavalry  leader.  He  waited  now, 
in  the  green  Pennsylvania  country,  with  a  front  of  patience,  but  per 
haps  with  an  inner  agony.  Was  Hooker  yet  in  Virginia?  Lee  sat 
still  in  his  small  tent,  his  eyes  level,  his  hand  resting  lightly  on  the 
table;  then  he  rose,  and  said  to  the  adjutant-general  that  the  army 
would  advance,  next  day,  upon  Harrisburg. 

But  that  same  night,  the  twenty-eighth,  there  was  a  movement 

at  the  door  of  the  tent.  "  Captain ,  from  General  Longstreet, 

sir,  with  the  scout,  Harrison." 

A  short,  lean,  swarthy  man  in  citizen's  dress,  came  forward  and 
saluted. 

"You  are,"  said  Lee,  "the  scout  General  Longstreet  sent  into 
Washington?" 

"Yes,  General.  Three  weeks  ago  from  Fredericksburg." 

"Very  well.    Give  me  your  report." 

"  General  Longstreet  gave  me  money,  sir,  and  orders  to  make  my 
way  into  Washington  and  to  stay  there  until  I  had  something  im 
portant  to  report  and  could  get  out.  I  only  managed  the  last,  sir, 
five  days  ago.  Since  then  I've  been  travelling  at  night  and  what 


154  CEASE   FIRING 

parts  of  the  day  I  could  without  observation.  I  knew,  of  course, 
that  the  army  had  crossed  or  was  crossing,  and  from  Washington  I 
struck  out  toward  Frederick.  There  was  talk  in  Washington  that 
General  Hooker  would  certainly  be  superseded,  and  last  night  I 
heard  that  he  had  resigned  and  General  Meade  was  in  command." 

"I  have  been  looking  for  that.  General  Hooker  was  a  good 
fighter,  and  so  is  General  Meade.  But  it  is  of  the  whereabouts  of 
that  army  that  I  want  to  know." 

"I  had  to  hide  at  Frederick,  sir.  Three  corps  were  already  there. 
As  I  left  I  saw  the  dust  of  a  fourth." 

"At  Frederick  I" 

"Yes,  sir.  I  understood  from  a  farmer  that  they  crossed  at 
Edwards's  Ferry  the  twenty-fifth  and  sixth." 

"Have  you  seen  or  heard  of  General  Stuart  ?" 

"An  ambulance  driver  told  me  there  was  a  report  that  what  he 
called  the  rebel  cavalry  had  crossed  the  Potomac  and  were  cutting 
the  Chesapeake  and  Ohio  Canal." 

"And  the  enemy's  line  of  march  from  Frederick  ?" 

"Toward  South  Mountain,  sir." 

"That  is  all  of  consequence  you  have  to  report?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Very  well.  You  have  done  well,  Harrison.   Goodnight!" 

The  scout  and  the  aide  departed.  In  the  tent  there  was  a  some 
what  heavy  silence.  Lee  drew  the  map  upon  the  table  closer  and  sat, 
his  forehead  upon  his  hand,  studying  it.  Two  candles  stood  beside 
him,  and  the  white  light  showed  the  beauty  of  the  down-bent  head 
and  face.  His  expression  was  very  quiet,  but  the  adjutant,  watching 
him,  ached  for  the  ache  that  he  read  there,  the  ache  of  a  great  gen 
eral  who  was  yet  mortal,  with  a  mortal's  equipment;  of  the  leader 
of  brave  men  who  were  yet  mortal  with  a  quiverful  of  the  arrows 
of  mistake  and  random  aim.  The  hopes  of  the  South  hung  upon 
this  campaign.  All  knew  it;  the  adjutant-general  knew  it;  the  man 
bending  over  the  map  knew  it.  ...  Hooker  —  no,  Meade !  —  was 
across  the  Potomac,  and  advancing.  By  now  he  would  be  some 
where  south  of  Gettysburg.  .  .  .  The  candles  burned  clear;  Lee  sat, 
very  still,  his  gaze  level,  his  hand  upon  the  map. 

Colonel  Taylor  ventured  to  speak.  "The  orders  for  Harris- 
burg-" 


ACROSS   THE  POTOMAC  155 

"Yes,  Colonel.  We  must  countermand  them.  These  people  are 
closer  than  I  thought.  I  wish  we  had  our  cavalry.  But  I  make  mis 
takes  myself."  He  rose,  moving  out  of  the  clear  light  into  the  dusk 
of  the  tent.  "The  orders  are  that  all  three  corps  concentrate  at 
Cashtown  a  little  to  the  west  of  Gettysburg." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  CAVE 

ON  the  thirteenth  of  June  grey  countermines  were  begun  from 
all  the  main  grey  works.  The  men  worked  continuously  upon 
these,  and  in  the  night-time  they  strengthened  the  breaches 
made  by  the  daily  fierce  cannonade.  With  the  few  hundred  entrench 
ing  tools,  with  the  improvised  spades,  the  bayonet  picks,  with  earth 
carried  in  camp-buckets,  with  all  ingenious  makeshifts,  they  bur 
rowed  and  heaped  continuously.  But  they  laboured,  now,  somewhat 
weakly.  They  were  so  tired.  The  heat  of  that  Southern  land  was 
frightful,  and  the  confinement  in  the  trenches  was  frightful.  The 
thought  began  to  sicken  at  those  deep  troughs  in  the  earth.  In 
the  scanty  sleep  of  officers  and  men  they  pressed  upon  the  brain; 
they  grew  to  seem  trenches  in  the  brains,  troughs  filled  with  dead 
thoughts,  thoughts  that  still  suffered.  There  was  no  relief  from 
the  trenches,  no  relief  at  all,  except  when  a  wound  came  —  a  bad 
wound  —  or  fever  came  —  serious  fever  with  delirium  —  when  the 
wounded  or  the  fevered  was  borne  with  some  risk  from  shells  and 
minies  to  the  hospital.  Even  in  the  hospital  the  trenches  stayed  in 
the  brain.  It  came  that,  in  the  trenches,  the  tired,  tired  soldiers 
looked  with  something  like  envy  upon  the  wounded  or  the  fevered  as 
he  was  borne  away.  "That  fellow's  going  to  get  some  sleep."  — 
"Stop  your  nodding,  Jimmy!  —  nodding  same  as  if  you  were  in 
church!"  —  "Captain's  calling!"  —  "Go  'way!  If  you  jerk  your 
head  back  like  that  you'll  break  your  neck."  —  "I  wouldn't 
care,"  said  Jimmy,  "if  it  just  meant  sleeping  on  and  on."  —  "It 
would  n't.  You'd  be  fighting  again  somewhere  else  in  a  jiffy!  —  O 
God!  these  trenches." 

Officers  and  men  were  dead  for  sleep.  Officers  and  men  had  never 
dreamed  of  such  fatigue.  Officers  and  men  handled  sword  and 
musket  with  hands  that  were  hard  to  keep  ennerved  and  watched 
the  foe  with  eyes  over  which  the  lids  would  droop.  It  was  growing 
ghastly  at  Vicksburg,  and  the  June  sun  beat  down,  beat  down.  In 


THE  CAVE  157 

the  infrequent  times  when  the  river  was  clear  of  smoke  it  lay  glit 
tering  like  diamonds  and  topazes,  paining  the  weary  eye.  North 
and  east  and  south  the  cloud  rarely  lifted.  A  thinner  battle  cloud 
overhung  the  seven-mile  Confederate  line.  The  grey  could  not 
spend  powder  as  might  the  blue,  nor  did  they  have  the  blue's  great 
horde  of  guns.  But  what  with  the  blue  and  what  with  the  grey  all 
Vicksburg  and  its  environs  dwelled  day  after  day,  week  after  week, 
in  a  battle  murk.  The  smoke  was  always  there;  the  smell,  the  taste, 
were  always  there.  The  pitiless  sun  was  no  less  hot  for  the  ashen 
gauze  through  which  it  struck.  Shorn  of  its  beams,  it  rose  and 
moved  through  the  muddy  blue,  and  set  like  a  thick  red-gold 
buckler,  from  behind  which  came  lances  of  heat  and  madness.  With 
the  night  there  came  drenching  dews  and  the  mist  from  the  river. 
Heat  and  cold  beat  on  the  same  men,  cramped  forever  in  the  same 
trenches. 

On  the  tenth  day  of  the  siege  the  eighteen  thousand  fighting  men 
had  been  put  on  half-rations.  Later  these  were  greatly  reduced.  At 
first  five  ounces  of  poor  corn  or  pea  flour  were  issued  daily;  later  the 
amount  fell  to  three  ounces.  The  mules  in  the  place  were  slaugh 
tered,  but  the  meat  gained  in  this  way  fed  but  a  few.  After  mid-June 
the  cats  disappeared  from  the  town.  In  the  spring  Vicksburg  had 
had  its  fair  vegetable  gardens.  Now  every  eatable  root  below  or 
stalk  or  seed  above  the  ground  was  gone.  The  small,  unripe  fruit, 
peach  or  quince  or  fig,  the  hard  green  berries,  were  gathered,  stewed, 
and  eaten.  All  things  were  eaten  that  could  be  eaten,  but  the  men 
grew  large-eyed,  and  their  physical  strength  flagged.  From  almost 
the  beginning  the  water  had  been  bad.  The  men  in  the  river  batter 
ies  and  the  troops  upon  the  right  suffered  most  where  all  suffered 
much.  The  Federal  shot  and  shell  had  slain,  in  the  first  days  of  the 
siege,  a  number  of  horses  and  mules.  It  being  the  first  of  the  siege 
and  starvation  not  yet  above  the  horizon,  these  animals  were 
dragged  in  the  night  to  the  river  and  thrown  in.  Now  the  cisterns 
were  exhausted,  the  wells  were  insufficient.  They  were  forced  to 
draw  by  night  the  water  from  the  edge  of  the  river,  filled  with  mag 
gots  as  it  was.  They  dug  shallow  wells  in  the  hollows  and  dips  of  the 
land  and  placed  sentinels  over  them  to  see  that  the  water  was  not 
wasted.  The  water  was  there  for  drinking  or  for  the  slight  cooking 
that  went  on ;  there  was  never  any  for  washing.  Some  men  forgot  the 


158  CEASE  FIRING 

feel  of  cleanliness;  others  set  their  lips  and  did  without.  Powder- 
grime  and  sweat;  drenching  rains  that  lined  and  floored  every 
trench  with  miserable  mire;  fierce,  beating  suns  that  made  the  mire 
into  a  dust  that  stiffened  the  hair  and  choked  the  pores;  effluvia, 
blood,  refuse  that  could  not  be  carted  away,  that  there  was  not  time 
to  bury,  —  the  trenches  at  Vicksburg  and  the  slight  camps  behind 
grew  like  a  bad  dream,  vague  and  sickening.  Hunger  that  could  not 
be  fed  dwelled  in  Vicksburg,  weariness  that  could  not  find  rest,  in 
sufficient  sleep,  dirt,  thirst,  wounds,  disease.  Fever  was  there  hugely, 
fever  and  flux,  exhaustion,  debility,  and  also  hyperexcitement; 
strange  outbreaks  of  nature  and  strange  sinkings  together.  Once 
there  was  a  hint  of  cholera.  Two  surgeons  stood  over  the  man  who 
had  been  lifted  from  the  trench  and  now  lay  writhing  on  the  earth 
under  a  roof  of  dried  pine  boughs. 

"It  looks  mighty  suspicious,"  said  one  in  a  weary  voice,  barely 
rising  above  a  whisper.  "  That 's  why  I  called  you.  It  would  be  the 
last  stroke." 

The  other  nodded.  "You 're  right  there.  I  Ve  seen  it  once  before, 
off  a  ship  at  Tampa,  but  I'm  not  sure  that  this  is  it.  There's  a 
mock  here  of  everything  in  the  world  that's  awful,  so  it  may  be 
a  mock  of  that,  too." 

"I've  heard  that  chloroform  is  good.  One  part  chloroform,  three 
parts  water,  two  — 

"Yes.  There  is  n't  any  chloroform." 

The  man  died,  but,  whatever  it  had  been,  that  particular  disease 
did  not  spread.  Others  did.  They  spread  apace. 

A  grey  mine  was  started  from  within  the  Third  Louisiana  Redan 
by  sinking  a  vertical  shaft  and  then  digging  outward  a  gallery  under 
the  Federal  sap.  Night  and  day  the  grey  worked,  and  night  and  day 
worked  the  blue.  The  grey  worked  hungry,  the  blue  worked  fed. 
The  grey  worked  heavy-lidded,  with  long,  long  shifts.  The  blue 
worked,  rested  and  refreshed,  with  short  shifts.  The  blue  had  every 
modern  appliance  for  their  work,  the  grey  had  not.  The  grey  worked 
with  desperation  upon  their  inclined  gallery;  the  blue  drove  steadily 
and  apace  toward  the  salient  of  the  redan. 

Now  and  then  there  were  assaults  where  the  enemy  thought  his 
cannon  or  his  mines  had  made  a  practicable  breach.  These  were 
driven  back,  and  then  the  great  guns  belched  flame  and  thundered. 


THE   CAVE  159 

The  grey  guns  answered  where  answers  were  most  strongly  indic 
ated;  never  had  they  had  ammunition  to  spend  on  mere  pleasure  of 
defiance.  Now  here,  now  there,  along  the  lines,  leaping  from  place 
to  place  like  lightning,  musketry  flamed  and  crackled.  Always  the 
blue  minies  kept  up  their  singing,  and  always  the  many  and  deadly 
sharpshooters  watched  to  pick  off  men  and  officers.  The  gunboats 
and  the  mortars  from  the  Louisiana  shore  helped  with  a  lavish  hand 
the  land  guns.  Day  chiefly  saw  the  bombardments,  but  there  were 
nights  when  the  region  shook ;  when  the  bombs,  exploding,  reddened 
the  sky;  when,  copper-hued,  saffron- tinged,  the  clouds  rolled  over 
the  place;  when  there  was  shriek  and  thunder,  light  and  murk,  glare 
and  horror  of  the  great  city  of  Dis. 

Desiree  could  not  rest  within  the  cave  or  on  the  bench  among  the 
ivy  sprays.  Hard-by  was  now  a  field  hospital,  and  now  each  morn 
ing  she  left  the  ruined  garden,  mounted  a  little  rise  of  ground,  de 
scended  it,  and  found  herself  under  a  shed-like  structure  amid 
ghastly  sights  and  sounds  of  suffering.  Here  she  ministered  as  best 
she  might.  Like  other  Southern  women  she  was  familiar  with  plant 
ation  accidents.  She  knelt  and  helped  with  capable  hands,  prefer 
ring  to  be  there  and  occupied  than  to  sit  in  the  torn  garden  and  hear 
upon  the  wind  the  sobbing  and  crying  of  this  place.  At  night,  lying 
upon  her  pallet,  she  sometimes  stopped  her  ears  against  it.  Sight 
horrified  the  brain,  but  hearing  twisted  the  heartstrings.  She  never 
fancied  that  she  distinguished  Edward's  voice;  if  he  were  hurt  he 
would  not  cry  aloud.  But  she  trembled  to  hear  the  others  crying, 
and  though  she  loved  life  she  would  have  died  for  them  if  she  could 
have  thereby  stopped  the  crying. 

Now  and  again  she  went  into  the  town.  It  was  a  place  now  of 
thin-faced  heroism,  large-eyed  endurance,  seldom-speaking  women, 
patient  children.  Hunger  was  in  the  town  as  well  as  at  the  lines,  hun 
ger  and  fever,  hunger  and  fever!  Mourning  was  there,  too;  not  loud 
but  deep.  There  were  so  many  widows,  so  many  orphans.  There 
were  sisters  with  a  brother's  death  upon  their  hearts;  there  were  be 
trothed  girls  who  now  would  never  marry.  All  were  brave,  with  a 
dumb  heroism.  The  past  told.  Aryan  emigrants,  women  of  the  dark 
Teutonic  forest,  Pictish  women,  women  of  a  Roman  strain,  Angle 
and  Dane  and  Celt  and  Saxon,  Gaul  and  Iberian  and  Hebrew,  — 
yes,  and  women  of  Africa,  —  the  wide  past  of  famished  sieges,  of 


160  CEASE  FIRING 

back  to  the  wall,  of  utter  sacrifice,  came  again  to  the  town  of  Vicks- 
burg  upon  the  Mississippi  River. 

Desiree  returned  to  Cape  Jessamine.  The  ruined  garden  was 
ruined  now,  indeed,  torn  by  shot  and  shell,  sunbaked,  withered, 
dead.  Post,  beam,  and  rafter  of  the  burned  house  no  longer  stood 
like  a  hieroglyphic  against  the  sky.  An  exploding  shell  had  wrecked 
the  last  support  and  all  had  fallen.  Desiree,  passing  close,  one  day, 
saw  a  snake  among  the  warped  timbers.  The  trees  had  lost  all  green 
ness.  They,  too,  suffered  deadly  injury  from  the  shells.  The  flowers 
were  all  withered.  They  could  not  bloom  in  that  heavy  and  sulph 
urous  air.  The  bed  of  mignonette  grew  yellow  and  thin  and  wan.  It 
lost  its  odour.  The  birds  were  gone  long  ago.  One  neither  heard  the 
buzz  of  bees  nor  saw  a  butterfly.  It  was  as  though  a  wizard's  wand 
were  waving  away  life  and  loveliness. 

Desiree  kept  her  beauty,  but  it  grew  beauty  of  the  inner  outward, 
beauty  of  a  myriad  complexities,  subtleties,  intensities.  Memory 
was  there  and  forecasting,  and  everything  heightened.  She  had  her 
Leonardo  look;  she  went  from  hour  to  hour,  not  unsmiling,  but  the 
smile  was  remote  from  mirth  and  near  to  thought.  Her  physical 
being  was  clean,  poised,  and  strong.  She  fared  as  scantily  as  all  the 
others,  but  she  did  not  perceptibly  weaken.  Or  if  the  body  weakened, 
she  drew  deep  upon  the  innermost  reserve  and  braced  nerve  and 
muscle  with  her  will.  The  field  hospital  thought  her  tireless. 

As  she  left  the  garden  one  day,  a  mine  was  sprung  under  the 
nearest  salient  and  a  breach  made  through  which  a  blue  wave  at 
once  undertook  to  pour.  The  grey  meeting  it,  there  followed  three 
minutes  of  shock  and  roar,  when  the  blue  went  back.  It  was  an  ugly 
breach,  and  while  the  grey  cannon  thundered  it  must  be  quickly 
mended.  All  the  men  possible  fell  to  digging,  while  sand  bags  were 
brought  and  great  bolsters  of  earth  wrapped  in  old  tenting. 
"Hurry!  "  said  the  captains.  "Dig  fast! " 

Desiree  went  nearer  and  nearer.  A  man  with  a  spade,  making 
some  headway  with  a  hillock  of  earth,  which,  as  he  loosened,  another 
scraped  into  a  sack,  fell  dead,  the  brain  pierced  by  a  sharpshooter's 
bullet.  The  man  with  the  sack  made  a  "Tchk!"  with  his  tongue, 
then  turned  to  shout  for  another  digger.  His  eyes  fell  on  Desiree. 

"What  are  you  doing  here,  ma'am?  This  ain't  no  place  for  a 


THE   CAVE  161 

Desiree  bent  and  took  the  spade  from  the  dead  man's  grasp.  "I 
am  strong,"  she  said,  "and  I  like  to  dig.  Hold  the  sack  open." 

She  worked  for  an  hour,  until  the  breach  was  fully  mended. 
At  the  last  her  fellow  worker  and  she  struck  the  dirt  from  their 
hands,  and,  straightening  themselves,  looked  at  each  other. 

"You  do  fine,"  he  said.  "I  reckon  you  must  have  had  some  dig 
ging  to  do  once." 

"Yes,  I  had,"  she  answered.  "For  a  long  time  and  much  of  it.  I 
am  coming  again." 

The  next  day  there  was  a  bombardment  that  shook  earth  and  sky. 
When,  in  the  late  afternoon,  it  was  over,  the  air  rested  thick  as  on 
the  slopes  of  a  volcano  in  action,  dusk  and  thick  and  heavy  with  the 
sullen  odour  of  strife.  Through  the  false  twilight,  Desiree,  now  at 
the  cave,  saw  looming  figures,  litter-bearers.  She  knew  they  would 
come  in  at  the  ruined  gate,  and  they  came.  She  met  them  by  the 
fallen  house.  "I  am  not  badly  hurt,"  said  Edward's  voice.  "Don't 
think  it!  And  how  blessed  to  have  Cape  Jessamine  to  come  to  — " 

The  time  wore  on  toward  late  June.  The  month  of  roses,  here,  was 
a  month  of  red  flowers  of  death.  Outward  from  the  Third  Louisiana 
Redan  dug  feverishly  the  grey  miners  driving  a  gallery  beneath  the 
Federal  sap.  Outward  from  the  blue  lines  dug  fast  and  far  the  blue 
sappers,  making  for  the  Third  Louisiana  Redan  that  crowned  a  nar 
row  ridge.  Within  the  redan,  seeing  the  explosion  approach,  the  grey 
built  a  second  parapet  some  yards  behind  the  first.  On  the  twenty- 
fifth  the  explosion  came.  The  salient  was  wrecked,  six  men  who 
were  digging  a  shaft  were  buried  alive.  Through  the  thick  smoke 
and  infernal  din  was  pushed  a  blue  charge,  hurrahing.  The  grey 
were  ready  at  the  second  parapet.  The  Sixth  Missouri,  held  by 
Forney  in  reserve,  poured  into  the  injured  works.  "Yaaaaih!" 
they  yelled;  "  Yaaaaih!  Yaaaaihhhh!"  and  checked  the  blue  with  a 
deadly  volley.  Their  colonel  —  Colonel  Erwin  —  mounted  the 
shattered  parapet.  He  waved  his  sword.  "Charge,  men,  charge!" 
A  minie  killed  him,  but  his  men  poured  over  the  parapet.  There 
was  fierce  hand-to-hand  fighting.  Dark  came,  the  blue  holding  ditch 
and  slope  of  the  outer,  now  ruined  parapet,  the  grey  masters  of  the 
inner  works. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  the  two  Confederate  mines  beyond  the 
stockade  redan  were  exploded,  filling  up  the  Federal  sap  and  parallels 


1 62  CEASE  FIRING 

and  destroying  their  sap  rollers.  There  was  also  this  night  a  transfer 
of  guns,  a  Dahlgren  gun  being  added  to  the  battery  facing  the 
enemy's  works  on  the  Jackson  road,  and  a  ten-inch  mortar  mounted 
on  the  Warren  ton  road.  Off  and  on,  throughout  this  night,  arose  a 
fierce  rattle  of  musketry,  came  an  abortive  blue  attempt  to  storm 
the  grey  line.  Half  the  grey  men  watched;  the  other  half  slept 
upon  its  arms. 

Life  in  the  town  grew  tense  and  vibrant.  Also  something  high  and 
clear  came  into  it  and  a  certain  insouciance.  The  caves  gave  parties. 
There  was  no  room  to  dance  and  there  was  nothing  to  eat;  but 
parties  the  slight  gatherings  were  called.  In  the  hospitals  the 
wounded  ceased  to  blench  at  the  crashing  shells.  The  surgeons  and 
nursing  women  went  lightly  between  the  pallets,  nor  turned  their 
heads  because  a  roof  was  struck.  The  large-eyed  children  played 
quietly  in  the  cave  mouths,  or  gathered  about  some  woman  who  told 
them  of  Cinderella  and  Beauty  and  the  Beast.  The  negro  mam 
mies  crooned  the  babies  to  sleep.  Officers  and  men  passed  through 
the  streets,  exhibiting  a  certain  wan  jauntiness.  Commissariat  and 
quartermasters  said  pleasant  things  about  the  squirrel's  store  with 
which  they  must  feed  an  army,  and  the  powder-horn  and  pouch 
of  shot  from  which  they  must  keep  it  in  ammunition.  The  non- 
combatant  citizens  did  their  share  toward  keeping  up  the  general 
spirits.  Songs  appeared,  and  there  was  a  general  and  curious 
readiness  to  laugh.  A  Vicksburg  newspaper  faced  with  a  thought 
ful  brow  the  giving-out  of  paper  and  a  consequent  suspension  of 
issue.  It  did  not  want  to  suspend.  It  viewed  a  forlorn  little  wall 
paper  shop,  and  it  went  across  and  purchased  the  dusty  stock. 
The  next  morning  it  came  out  with  a  backing  of  noble  arabesque, 
of  morning  glories  on  trellises,  of  green  and  gold  leaves  and  cab 
bage  roses. 

Down  at  Cape  Jessamine  undeniably  there  was  happiness. 
Edward  Gary's  wound  was  not  grave.  It  disabled,  kept  him  lying, 
thin  and  pale,  on  the  pallet  which  for  light  and  air  Desiree  had 
dragged  near  to  the  cave  entrance.  But  there  was  no  fever.  His 
superb,  clean  manhood  told.  The  two  of  them  kept  bodily  poise,  and 
with  it  the  mental.  They  were  happy;  a  strange,  personal  happiness 
in  the  midst  of  menace  and  the  gathering  public  woe.  It  was  not 
selfishness;  they  would  have  laid  aside  bliss  itself  like  a  gold  mantle 


THE   CAVE  163 

and  gone  down  to  lazar  rags  and  the  cold  and  dark  forever  if  they 
could  thereby  have  rescued  their  world.  That  could  not  be;  they 
were  here  on  a  raft  together  in  the  midst  of  the  ocean ;  they  could 
only  serve  themselves  and  each  other.  They  had  had  few  days  and 
hours  together.  The  lover's  passion  was  yet  upon  them;  each  to  the 
other  was  plainly  aureoled.  He  lay  with  the  veil  of  ivy  drawn  back  so 
that  he  might  see  the  battle  cloud.  She  tended  him,  she  prepared  their 
scanty  food,  she  brought  water  at  nightfall  from  the  little  spring. 
Sometimes  she  left  him  to  go  help  awhile  in  the  field  hospital.  But 
he  was  as  badly  hurt  as  many  there;  with  a  clear  conscience  she 
might  choose  to  tend  this  wounded  soldier.  She  did  so  choose. 

The  hot  days  went  by  beneath  the  bowl  of  brass  that  was  the  sky. 
The  murk  came  up  to  the  cave,  the  steady  thunder  shook  the  ivy 
sprays.  Desiree  sat  upon  the  earth  beside  the  pallet.  Sometimes 
they  talked  together,  low- voiced;  sometimes,  in  long  silent  spaces, 
they  looked  each  on  the  aureoled  other.  He  was  most  beautiful  to 
her,  and  she  to  him.  A  faint  splendour  dwelled  in  the  cave  and 
over  this  part  of  the  withered  garden,  a  strange,  transforming, 
golden  light.  They  smelled  the  honeysuckle,  they  smelled  the 
mignonette.  They  thought  they  heard  the  singing  of  the  birds. 

On  the  twenty-sixth  the  mortars  upon  the  Louisiana  side  began 
again  to  throw  huge  shells  into  the  town,  while  the  gunboats  opened 
a  rapid  and  heavy  firing  upon  the  lower  batteries.  This  continued. 
On  the  twenty-eighth  the  grey  exploded  a  mine  before  the  lunette 
on  the  Baldwin's  Ferry  road,  where  the  Federal  sap  was  within  six 
yards  of  the  ditch.  At  point  after  point  now,  the  blue  line  held  that 
near  the  grey.  At  places  the  respective  parapets  were  fearfully 
close.  There  was  fighting  with  hand  grenades,  there  was  tossing 
of  fire-balls  against  the  sap  rollers  behind  which  worked  the  blue 
miners. 

Night  attacks  grew  frequent;  all  the  weakened  grey  soldiers  lay 
on  their  arms;  no  one,  day  or  night,  could  leave  the  trenches.  The 
wounded,  the  fevered,  the  hunger-weakened,  the  sleepless  —  Vicks- 
burg's  defenders  grew  half  wraith,  half  scarecrow. 

In  the  dead  night  of  the  twenty-ninth,  after  five  hours  of  a  sultry 
and  sullen  stillness,  every  blue  cannon  appeared  to  open.  From  the 
Louisiana  shore,  from  the  river,  from  the  land,  north,  east,  and  south, 
came  the  blast. 


1 64  CEASE  FIRING 

Desiree  parted  the  mat  of  ivy  and  watched  with  Edward  from  the 
mouth  of  the  cave. 

"The  twenty-ninth!"  he  said.  "It  is,  I  think,  the  beginning  of 
the  end.  I  doubt  if  we  can  hold  out  another  week." 

She  sat  on  the  earth  beside  him,  her  head  against  the  pillow.  Lip 
and  ear  must  be  near  together;  at  any  distance  the  blast  carried  the 
voice  away.  "The  beginning  of  the  end.  .  .  .  You  think  General 
Johnston  will  not  come  ?  " 

"How  can  he  ?  I  saw  the  force  that  he  had.  It  is  not  possible.  He 
is  right  in  refusing  to  play  the  dare-devil  or  to  sacrifice  for  naught. 
He  should  have  been  listened  to  in  the  beginning." 

"And  we  cannot  cut  our  way  out?" 

"Evacuate?  How  many  could  march  ten  miles?  No.  Troy's 
down  —  Troy 's  down!" 

"Richmond  is  Troy." 

"...  That  is  true.  Then  this  is  one  of  the  small  Asian  towns." 

Without  the  ivy  sprays  there  was  a  red  and  awful  light.  They  saw 
the  world  as  by  calcium.  The  stars  were  put  out,  but  the  flashes 
burnished  the  piled  battle  clouds.  Bronze  and  copper  and  red 
gleamed  the  turreted  fierce  clouds.  Below  were  now  sharply  shown, 
now  hidden,  the  Vicksburg  lines,  the  heaped,  earthen  front.  Redan 
and  redoubt  and  lunette  and  the  long  ragged  rifle-pits  between,  — 
now  they  showed  and  now  the  smoke  drove  between. 

"It  repeats  and  repeats,"  said  Edward.  "Life's  a  labyrinth,  and 
the  clue  broke  at  the  beginning." 

"Love  is  the  clue." 

"Love  like  ours?  There  must  be  many  kinds  of  love." 

"Yes.  But  love  in  all  its  degrees.  From  love  of  thought  to  love  of 
the  snake  that  I  saw  again  to-day.  Love  in  all  its  degrees  casting 
out  hate  in  all  its  degrees.  Love  that  lives  and  lets  live.  Love  that  is 
wise." 

"Is  it  always  wise?" 

"It  can  be  made  so.  All  other  clues  will  break  like  packthread." 

The  light  grew  intenser.  Houses  in  the  town  had  been  set  afire. 
Air  and  earth  shook,  all  the  heavy,  buried  strings  vibrated.  Sound 
rolled  against  the  ear  like  combers  of  a  sea,  deep,  terrific,  with  a 
ground  swell,  with  sudden,  wild  accesses  as  when  world  navies  are 
wrecked.  The  smell  of  powder  smoke  gathered,  familiar,  familiar, 


THE   CAVE  165 

familiar!  Marching  feet  were  heard,  going  down  to  the  lines  —  the 
City  Guard  probably,  called  to  come  and  help. 

"Packthread,"  said  Edward.  "All  this  to  break  like  packthread 
and  go  out  like  flaming  tow.  .  .  .  Love  and  Thought  the  sole 
weavers  of  relations.  Love  and  Thought  the  related  and  the  rela 
tion.  .  .  ." 

The  rapid  and  heavy  cannonading  stopped  with  the  amber  dawn. 
The  Federal  sappers  were  again  under  the  Third  Louisiana  Redan. 
They  worked  behind  a  timber-and-wire  screen  against  which  in  vain 
the  grey  threw  hand  grenades  and  fire  balls.  Lockett,  the  chief 
engineer,  had  a  barrel,  filled  with  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  pounds 
of  powder  and  carrying  a  time  fuse  of  fifteen  seconds,  rolled  over  the 
parapet  toward  the  blue  shelter.  The  explosion  sent  the  timber  screen 
in  a  thousand  fragments  into  the  air;  behind  it  there  came  a  shouting 
and  running.  All  this  day  there  was  heavy  firing  from  the  river. 

The  morning  of  July  first  all  division  commanders  received  from 
General  Pemberton  a  confidential  note.  It  stated  succinctly  that 
apparently  the  siege  of  Vicksburg  could  not  be  raised  and  that  sup 
plies  were  exhausted.  There  remained  an  attempt  at  evacuation. 
The  note  asked  for  reports  as  to  the  condition  of  the  troops  and 
their  ability  to  make  the  marches  and  endure  the  fatigues  necessary 
to  a  successful  issue.  The  major-generals  put  the  note  before  the 
brigadiers,  and  the  brigadiers  before  the  colonels.  There  was  but 
one  answer.  The  morale  of  the  men  was  good  —  yes !  and  again  yes ! 
But  for  the  rest,  for  their  physical  condition,  so  hungry,  so  tired,  so 
staggering  from  weakness  .  .  . 

This  was  in  the  morning.  At  one  in  the  afternoon  of  this  first  of 
July  the  enemy  exploded  their  great  mine  under  the  Third  Louisiana 
Redan.  The  fuse  was  lit,  the  fuse  burned,  the  spark  reached  fifteen 
hundred  pounds  of  powder.  There  was  an  awful,  a  rending  explo 
sion.  Earth,  defences,  guns,  men  and  men  and  men  were  blown  high 
into  the  air.  The  Sixth  Missouri  suffered  here.  There  was  made 
a  crater  twenty  feet  deep  and  fifty  across.  The  Third  Louisiana 
Redan  was  no  more. 

All  day  the  second,  a  part  of  the  day  the  third,  the  blue  land  bat 
teries,  the  blue  gunboats,  the  blue  mortars  bombarded  Vicksburg. 
On  the  Fourth  of  July  the  place  surrendered. 


CHAPTER  XV 

GETTYSBURG 

THE  sun  of  the  first  day  of  July  rose  serene  into  an  azure  sky 
where  a  few  white  clouds  were  floating.  The  light  summer 
mist  was  dissipated;  a  morning  wind,  freshly  sweet,  rippled 
the  corn  and  murmured  in  the  green  and  lusty  trees.  The  sunshine 
gilded  Little  Round  Top  and  Big  Round  Top,  gilded  Gulp's  Hill  and 
Cemetery  Hill,  gilded  Oak  Hill  and  Seminary  Ridge.  It  flashed  from 
the  cupola  of  the  Pennsylvania  College.  McPherson's  Woods  caught 
it  on  its  topmost  branches,  and  the  trees  of  Peach  Orchard.  It  trem 
bled  between  the  leaves,  and  flecked  with  golden  petals  Menchey's 
Spring  and  Spangler's  Spring.  It  lay  in  sleepy  lengths  on  the  Em- 
mitsburg  road.  It  struck  the  boulders  of  the  Devil's  Den;  it  made 
indescribably  light  and  fine  the  shocked  wheat  in  a  wheat-field  that 
drove  into  the  green  like  a  triangular  golden  wedge.  Full  in  the 
centre  of  the  rich  landscape  it  made  a  shining  mark,  a  golden  bull's- 
eye,  of  the  small  town  of  Gettysburg. 

It  should  have  been  all  peace,  that  rich  Pennsylvania  landscape  — 
a  Dutch  peace  —  a  Quaker  peace.  Market  wains  and  country  folk 
should  have  moved  upon  the  roads,  and  a  boy,  squirrel-hunting, 
should  have  been  the  most  murderous  thing  in  the  Devil's  Den. 
Corn-blades  should  have  glistened,  not  bayonets;  for  the  fluttering 
flags  the  farmers'  wives  should  have  been  bleaching  linen  on  the 
grass;  for  marching  feet  there  should  have  risen  the  sound  of  the 
scythe  in  the  wheat ;  for  the  groan  of  gun  wheels  upon  the  roads 
the  robin's  song  and  the  bob  white's  call. 

The  sun  mounted.  He  was  well  above  the  tree-tops  when  the  first 
shot  was  fired  —  Heth's  brigade  of  A.  P.  Hill's  corps  encountering 
Buford's  cavalry. 

The  sun  went  down  the  first  day  red  behind  the  hills.  He  visited 
the  islands  of  the  Pacific,  Nippon,  and  the  Kingdom  of  Flowers,  and 
India  and  Iran.  He  crowned  Caucasus  with  gold,  and  showered 
largess  over  Europe.  He  reddened  the  waves  of  the  Atlantic.  He 


GETTYSBURG  167 

touched  with  his  spear  lighthouses  and  coast  towns  and  the  inland 
green  land.  He  came  up  over  torn  orchard  and  trampled  wheat- 
field;  he  came  up  over  the  Round  Tops  and  Gulp's  Hill  and  Ceme 
tery  Hill.  But  no  one,  this  second  day,  stopped  to  watch  his  rising. 
The  battle  smoke  hid  him  from  the  living  upon  the  slopes  and  in  all 
the  fields. 

The  sun  travelled  from  east  to  west,  but  no  man  on  the  shield 
of  which  Gettysburg  was  the  centre  saw  him  go  down  that  second 
day.  A  thick  smoke,  like  the  wings  of  countless  ravens,  kept  out  the 
parting  gleams.  He  went  his  way  over  the  plains  of  the  West  and 
the  Pacific  and  the  Asian  lands.  He  came  over  Europe  and  the  Atlan 
tic  and  made,  on  the  third  morning,  bright  pearl  of  the  lighthouses, 
the  surf,  and  the  shore.  The  ripe  July  country  welcomed  him.  But 
around  Gettysburg  his  rising  was  not  seen.  The  smoke  had  not  dis 
persed.  He  rode  on  high,  but  all  that  third  day  he  was  seen  far  away 
and  dim  as  through  crepe.  All  day  he  shone  serene  on  other  lands, 
but  above  this  region  he  hung  small  and  dim  and  remote  like  a  tarn 
ished,  antique  shield.  Sometimes  the  drift  of  ravens'  wings  hid  him 
quite.  But  an  incense  mounted  to  him,  a  dark  smell  and  a  dark 
vapour. 

The  birds  were  gone  from  the  trees,  the  cattle  from  the  fields,  the 
children  from  the  lanes  and  the  brookside.  All  left  on  the  first  day. 
There  was  a  hollow  between  Round  Top  and  Devil's  Den,  and  into 
this  the  anxious  farmers  had  driven  and  penned  a  herd  of  cattle.  On 
the  sunny,  calm  afternoon  when  they  had  done  this,  they  could  not 
conceive  that  any  battle  would  affect  this  hollow.  Here  the  oxen, 
the  cows,  would  be  safe  from  chance  bullet  and  from  forager.  But  the 
farmers  did  not  guess  the  might  of  that  battle. 

The  stream  of  shells  was  directed  against  Round  Top,  but  a  num 
ber,  black  and  heavy,  rained  into  the  hollow.  A  great,  milk-white  ox 
was  the  first  wounded.  He  lay  with  his  side  ripped  open,  a  ghastly 
sight.  Then  a  cow  with  calf  was  mangled,  then  a  young  steer  had 
both  fore  legs,.broken.  Bellowing,  the  maddened  herd  rushed  here 
and  there,  attacking  the  rough  sides  of  the  hollow.  Death  and  panic 
were  upon  the  slopes  as  well  as  at  the  bottom  of  the  basin.  A  burst 
ing  shell  killed  and  wounded  a  dozen  at  once.  The  air  grew  thick 
and  black,  and  filled  with  the  cry  of  the  cattle. 

A  courier,  returning  to  his  general  after  delivering  an  order,  had 


1 68  CEASE   FIRING 

his  horse  shot  beneath  him.  Disentangling  himself,  he  went  on,  on 
foot,  through  a  wood.  He  was  intolerably  thirsty  —  and  lo,  a 
spring!  It  was  small  and  round  and  clear  like  a  mirror,  and  as  he 
knelt  he  saw  his  own  face  and  thought,  "  She  would  n't  know  me." 
The  minies  were  so  continuously  singing  that  he  had  ceased  to  heed 
them.  He  drank,  then  saw  that  he  was  reddening  the  water.  He  did 
not  know  when  he  had  been  wounded,  but  now,  as  he  tried  to  rise,  he 
grew  so  faint  and  cold  that  he  knew  that  Death  had  met  him.  .  .  . 
There  was  moss  and  fern  and  a  nodding  white  flower.  It  was  n't  a 
bad  place  in  which  to  die.  In  a  pocket  within  his  grey  jacket  he  had 
a  daguerreotype  —  a  young  and  smiling  face  and  form.  His  fingers 
were  so  nerveless  now  that  it  was  hard  to  get  the  little  velvet  case 
out,  and  when  it  was  out  it  proved  to  be  shattered,  it  and  the  picture 
within.  The  smiling  face  and  form  were  all  marred,  unrecognizable. 
So  small  a  thing,  perhaps!  —  but  it  made  the  bitterness  of  this  sol 
dier's  death.  The  splintered  case  in  his  hands,  he  died  as  goes  to 
sleep  a  child  who  has  been  unjustly  punished.  His  body  sank  deep 
among  the  fern,  his  chest  heaved,  he  shook  his  head  faintly,  and 
then  it  dropped  upon  the  moss,  between  the  stems  of  the  nodding 
white  flower. 

A  long  Confederate  line  left  a  hillside  and  crossed  an  open  space  of 
corn-field  and  orchard.  Double-quick  it  moved,  under  its  banners, 
under  the  shells  shrieking  above.  The  guns  changed  range,  and  an 
iron  flail  struck  the  line.  It  wavered,  wavered.  A  Federal  line  leaped 
a  stone  wall,  and  swept  forward,  under  its  banners,  hurrahing.  Mid 
way  of  the  wide  open  there  was  stretched  beneath  the  murky  sky  a 
narrow  web  —  woof  of  grey,  warp  of  blue.  The  strip  held  while  the 
heart  beat  a  minute  or  more,  then  it  parted.  The  blue  edge  went 
backward  over  the  plain;  the  grey  edge,  after  a  moment,  rushed 
after.  "  Yaaaiihhhl  Yaaaiiihhhhl"  it  shouted,  —  and  its  red  war- 
flag  glowed  like  fire.  The  grey  commander-in-chief  watched  from  a 
hillside,  a  steady  light  in  his  eyes.  Over  against  him  on  another 
hill,  Meade,  the  blue  general,  likewise  watched.  To  the  south,  across 
the  distant  Potomac,  lay  the  vast,  beleaguered,  Southern  fortress. 
Its  gate  had  opened;  out  had  poured  a  vast  sally  party,  a  third  of 
its  bravest  and  best,  and  at  the  head  the  leader  most  trusted,  most 
idolized.  Out  had  rushed  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia.  It  had 
crossed  the  moat  of  the  Potomac;  it  was  here,  on  the  beleaguer's 
ground. 


GETTYSBURG  169 

Earth  and  heaven  were  shaking  with  the  clangour  of  two  shields. 
The  sky  was  whirring  and  dim,  but  there  might  be  imagined,  sus 
pended  there,  a  huge  balance  —  here  the  besiegers,  here  the  fort 
ress's  best  and  bravest.  Which  would  this  day,  or  these  days,  tip  the 
beam?  Much  hung  upon  that  —  all  might  be  said  to  hang  upon  that. 
The  waves  on  the  plain  rolled  forward,  rolled  back,  rolled  forward. 
When  the  sun  went  down  the  first  day  the  fortress's  battle-flag  was 
in  the  ascendant. 

A  great  red  barn  was  the  headquarters  of  "  Dear  Dick  Ewell."  He 
rode  with  Gordon  and  others  at  a  gallop  down  a  smoky  road  be 
tween  stone  fences.  "  Wish  Old  Jackson  was  here ! "  he  said.  "  Wish 
Marse  Robert  had  Old  Jackson!  This  is  the  watershed,  General 
Gordon  —  yes,  sir!  this  is  the  watershed  of  the  war!  If  it  does  n't 
still  go  right  to-day  —  It  seems  to  me  that  wall  there's  got  a  sus 
picious  look  — 

'The  wall  in  question  promptly  justified  the  suspicion.  There  came 
from  behind  it  a  volley  that  emptied  grey  saddles. 

Gordon  heard  the  thud  of  the  minie  as  it  struck  "Old  Dick." 
"Are  you  hurt,  sir?  Are  you  hurt?" 

"No,  no,  General !  I 'm  not  hurt.  But  if  that  ball  had  struck  you, 
sir,  we  'd  have  had  the  trouble  of  carrying  you  off  the  field.  I  'm  a 
whole  lot  better  fixed  than  you  for  a  fight!  It  don't  hurt  a  mite  to  be 
shot  in  a  wooden  leg." 

Three  grey  soldiers  lay  behind  a  shock  of  wheat.  They  were 
young  men,  old  schoolmates.  This  wheat-shock  marked  the  farthest 
point  attained  in  a  desperate  charge  made  by  their  regiment  against 
a  larger  force.  It  was  one  of  those  charges  in  which  everybody  sees 
that  if  a  miracle  happens  it  will  be  all  right,  and  that  if  it  does  n't 
happen  —  It  was  one  of  those  charges  in  which  first  an  officer 
stands  out,  waving  his  sword,  then  a  man  or  two  follow  him,  then 
three  or  four  more,  then  all  waver  back,  only  to  start  forth  again, 
then  others  join,  then  the  officer  cries  aloud,  then,  with  a  roar,  the 
line  springs  forward  and  rushes  over  the  field,  in  the  cannon's 
mouth.  Such  had  been  the  procedure  in  this  charge.  The  miracle 
had  not  happened.  After  a  period  of  mere  din  as  of  ocean  waves  the 
three  found  themselves  behind  this  heap  of  tarnished  gold.  When, 
gasping,  they  looked  round,  all  their  fellows  had  gone  back ;  they  saw 
them  a  distant  torn  line,  still  holding  the  flag.  Then  a  rack  of  smoke 


1 7o  CEASE   FIRING 

came  between,  hiding  flag  and  all.  The  three  seemed  alone  in  the 
world.  The  wheat-ears  made  a  low  inner  sound  like  reeds  in  quiet 
marshes.  The  smoke  lifted  just  enough  to  let  a  muddy  sunlight 
touch  an  acre  of  the  dead. 

" We've  got,"  said  one  of  the  young  men,  "to  get  out  of  here. 
They'll  be  countercharging  in  a  minute." 

"O  God!  let  them  charge." 

"  Harry,  are  you  afraid  —  " 

" Yes;  I'm  afraid  —  sick  and  afraid.  O  God,  O  God!" 

The  oldest  of  the  three,  moving  his  head  very  cautiously,  looked 
round  the  wheat-shock.  "The  Army  of  the  Potomac's  coming." 
He  rose  to  his  knees,  facing  the  other  way.  "It 's  two  hundred  yards 
to  the  regiment.  Well,  we  always  won  the  races  at  the  old  Academy. 
I  '11  start,  Tom,  and  then  you  follow,  and  then  you,  Harry,  you  come 
straight  along!" 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  took  the  posture  of  a  runner,  drew  a  deep 
breath  and  started.  Two  yards  from  the  shock  a  cannon  ball  sheared 
the  head  from  the  body.  The  body  fell,  jutting  blood.  The  head 
bounded  back  within  the  shadow  of  the  wheat-shock.  Tom  was 
already  standing,  bent  like  a  bow.  A  curious  sound  came  from  his 
lips,  he  glanced  aside,  then  ran.  He  ran  as  swiftly  as  an  Indian, 
swiftly  and  well.  The  minie  did  not  find  him  until  he  was  halfway 
across  the  field.  Then  it  did,  and  he  threw  up  his  arms  and  fell. 
Harry,  on  his  hands  and  knees,  turned  from  side  to  side  an  old,  old 
face,  bloodless  and  twisted.  He  heard  the  Army  of  the  Potomac 
coming,  and  in  front  lay  the  corpses.  He  tried  to  get  to  his  feet,  but 
his  joints  were  water,  and  there  was  a  crowd  of  black  atoms  before 
his  eyes.  A  sickness,  a  clamminess,  a  despair  —  and  all  in  eternities. 
.  .  .  Then  the  sound  swelled,  and  it  drove  him  as  the  cry  of  the 
hounds  drives  the  hare.  He  ran,  panting,  but  the  charge  now  swal 
lowed  up  the  wheat-shock  and  came  thundering  on.  In  front  was 
only  the  dead,  piled  at  the  foot  of  the  wall  of  smoke.  He  still 
clutched  his  gun,  and  now  with  a  shrill  cry,  he  stopped,  turned,  and 
stood  at  bay.  He  had  hurt  a  hunter  in  the  leg,  before  the  blue 
muskets  clubbed  him  down. 

A  regiment,  after  advancing  a  skirmish  line,  moved  over  broken 
and  boulder-strewn  ground  to  occupy  a  yet  defended  position.  In 
front  moved  the  colonel,  half  turned  toward  his  men,  encouraging 


GETTYSBURG  171 

them  in  a  rich  and  hearty  voice.  "  Come  on,  men !  Come  on !  Come 
on !  You  are  all  good  harvesters,  and  the  grain  is  ripe,  the  grain  is 
ripe!  Come  on,  every  mother's  son  of  you!  Run,  now!  just  as 
though  there  were  home  and  children  up  there!  Come  on!  Come 
on!" 

The  regiment  reached  a  line  of  flat  boulders.  There  was  a  large, 
flat  one  like  an  altar  slab,  that  the  colonel  must  spring  upon  and 
cross.  Upon  it,  outstretched,  face  upward,  in  a  pool  of  blood,  lay  a 
young  figure,  a  lieutenant  of  skirmishers,  killed  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
ago.  "  Come  on !  Come  on ! "  shouted  the  colonel,  his  face  turned  to 
his  men.  ''Victory!  To-night  we'll  write  home  about  the  victory!" 

His  foot  felt  for  the  top  edge  of  the  boulder.  He  sprang  upon  it, 
and  faced  with  suddenness  the  young  dead.  The  oncoming  line  saw 
him  stand  as  if  frozen,  then  with  a  stiff  jerk  up  went  the  sword  again. 
"  Come  on !  Come  on ! "  he  cried,  and  plunging  from  the  boulder  con 
tinued  to  mount  the  desired  slope.  His  men,  close  behind  him,  also 
encountered  the  dead  on  the  altar  slab.  "Good  God!  It's  Lieu 
tenant —  It's  his  son!"  But  in  front  the  colonel's  changed  voice 
continued  its  crying,  "Come  on!  Come  on!  Come  on!" 

A  stone  wall,  held  by  the  grey,  leaped  fire,  rattled  and  smoked.  It 
did  this  at  short  intervals  for  a  long  while,  a  brigade  of  the  enemy 
choosing  to  charge  at  like  intervals.  The  grey's  question  was  a  ques 
tion  of  ammunition.  So  long  as  the  ammunition  held  out,  so  would 
they  and  the  wall.  They  sent  out  foragers  for  cartridges.  Four  men, 
having  secured  a  quantity  from  an  impatiently  sympathetic  reserve, 
heaped  them  in  a  blanket,  made  a  large  bundle,  and  slung  it  midway 
of  a  musket.  One  man  took  the  butt,  another  the  muzzle,  and  as  they 
had  to  reckon  with  sharpshooters  going  back,  the  remaining  two 
marched  in  front.  All  double-quicked  where  the  exposure  was  not 
extreme,  and  ran  where  it  was.  The  echoing  goal  grew  larger  —  as 
did  also  a  clump  of  elms  at  right  angles  with  the  wall.  Vanguard 
cocked  its  eye.  "Buzzards  in  those  trees,  boys  —  blue  buzzards! " 

Vanguard  pitched  forward  as  he  spoke.  The  three  ran  on.  Ten 
yards,  and  the  man  who  had  been  second  and  was  now  first,  was 
picked  off.  The  two  ran  on,  the  cartridges  between  them.  "We're 
goners!"  said  the  one,  and  the  other  nodded  as  he  ran. 

There  was  a  grey  battery  somewhere  in  the  smoke,  and  now  by 
chance  or  intention  it  flung  into  the  air  a  shell  that  shrieked  its  way 


172  CEASE   FIRING 

straight  to  the  clump  of  elms,  and  exploded  in  the  round  of  leaf  and 
branch.  The  sharpshooters  were  stilled.  "Moses  and  the  pro 
phets!"  said  the  runners.  "That's  a  last  year's  bird's  nest!" 

Altogether  the  foragers  brought  in  ammunition  enough  to  serve 
the  grey  wall's  immediate  purpose.  It  cracked  and  flamed  for  an 
other  while,  and  then  the  blue  brigade  ceased  its  charges  and  went 
elsewhere.  It  went  thinned  —  oh,  thinned !  —  in  numbers.  The 
grey  waited  a  little  for  the  smoke  to  lift,  and  then  it  mounted  the 
wall.  "And  the  ground  before  us,"  says  a  survivor,  "was  the  most 
heavenly  blue!" 

A  battalion  of  artillery,  thundering  across  a  corner  of  the  field, 
went  into  position  upon  a  little  hilltop.  Facing  it  was  Cemetery  Hill 
and  a  tall  and  wide-arched  gateway.  This  gateway,  now  clearly 
seen,  now  withdrawn  behind  a  world  of  grey  smoke,  now  showing  a 
half  arch,  an  angle,  a  span  of  the  crest,  exercised  a  fascination.  The 
gunners,  waiting  for  the  word,  watched  it.  "  Gate  of  Death,  don't  it 
look?  —  Gate  of  Death."  —  "  Wonder  what 's  beyond?  "  —  "  Yank 
ees." —  "But  they  ain't  dead  —  they're  alive  and  kicking!"  — 
"Now  it's  hidden  — Gate  of  Death."  —  "This  battle's  going  to 
lay  over  Sharpsburg.  Over  Gaines's  Mill  —  over  Malvern  Hill  — 
over  Fredericksburg  —  over  Second  Manassas  —  over — "  "The 
Gate's  hidden  —  there's  a  battery  over  there  going  to  open — " 
"  One?  there 's  two,  there 's  three  —  "  "  Cannoneers,  to  your  pieces  I " 

A  shell  dug  into  the  earth  and  exploded.  There  was  a  heavy  rain 
of  dark  earth.  It  pattered  against  all  the  pieces.  It  showered  men 
and  horses,  and  for  a  minute  made  a  thick  twilight  of  the  air. 
"  Whew !  the  Earth 's  taking  a  hand !  Anybody  hurt?  "  —  "Howitzer, 
load!" 

"Gate  of  Death's  clear." 

An  artillery  lieutenant,  —  Robert  Stiles,  —  acting  as  volunteer 
aide  to  Gordon,  was  to  make  his  way  across  the  battle-field  with  in 
formation  for  Edward  Johnson.  The  ground  was  strewn  with  the 
dead,  the  air  was  a  shrieking  torrent  of  shot  and  shell.  The  aide  and 
his  horse  thought  only  of  the  thing  in  hand  —  getting  across  that 
field,  getting  across  with  the  order.  The  aide  bent  to  the  horse's 
neck;  the  horse  laid  himself  to  the  ground  and  raced  like  a  wild 
horse  before  a  prairie  fire.  The  aide  thought  of  nothing;  he  was  go 
ing  to  get  the  order  there;  for  the  rest  his  mind  seemed  as  useless  as 


GETTYSBURG  173 

a  mirror  with  a  curtain  before  it.  Afterwards,  however,  when  he  had 
time  to  look  he  found  in  the  mirror  pictures  enough.  Among  them 
was  a  picture  of  a  battalion  —  Latimer's  battalion.  "  Never,  before 
or  after,  did  I  see  fifteen  or  twenty  guns  in  such  a  condition  of  wreck 
and  destruction  as  this  battalion  was!  It  had  been  hurled  back 
ward,  as  it  were  by  the  very  weight  and  impact  of  metal,  from  the 
position  it  had  occupied  on  the  crest  of  a  little  ridge,  into  a  saucer- 
shaped  depression  behind  it;  and  such  a  scene  as  it  presented! — guns 
dismounted  and  disabled,  carriages  splintered  and  crushed,  ammuni 
tion  chests  exploded,  limbers  upset,  wounded  horses  plunging  and 
kicking,  dashing  out  the  brains  of  men  tangled  in  the  harness;  while 
cannoneers  with  pistols  were  crawling  round  through  the  wreck 
shooting  the  struggling  horses  to  save  the  lives  of  the  wounded 
men." 

Hood  and  his  Texans  and  Law's  Alabamians  were  trying  to  take 
Little  Round  Top.  They  drove  out  the  line  of  sharpshooters  behind 
the  stone  wall  girdling  the  height.  Back  went  the  blue,  up  the  steeps, 
up  to  their  second  line,  behind  a  long  ledge  of  rock.  Up  and  after 
went  the  grey.  The  tall  boulders  split  the  advance  like  the  teeth  of  a 
comb;  no  alignment  could  be  kept.  The  rocks  formed  defiles  where 
only  two  or  three  could  go  abreast.  The  way  was  steep  and  horrible, 
and  from  above  rained  the  bullets.  Up  went  the  grey,  reinforced  now 
by  troops  from  McLaws's  division;  up  they  went  and  took  the  second 
line.  Back  and  up  went  the  blue  to  the  bald  and  rocky  crest,  to  their 
third  line,  a  stronghold,  indeed,  and  strongly  held.  Up  and  on  came 
the  grey,  but  it  was  as  though  the  sky  were  raining  lead.  The  grey 
fell  like  leaves  in  November  when  the  winds  howl  around  Round 
Top.  Oh,  the  boulders!  The  blood  on  the  boulders,  making  them 
slippery!  Oh,  the  torn  limbs  of  trees,  falling  so  fast!  The  eyes 
smarted  in  the  smoke;  the  voice  choked  in  the  throat.  All  men  were 
hoarse  with  shouting. 

Darkness  and  light  went  in  flashes,  but  the  battle  odour  stayed,  and 
the  unutterable  volume  of  sound.  All  the  dogs  of  war  were  baying. 
The  muscles  strained,  the  foot  mounted.  Forward  and  up  went  the 
battle-flag,  red  ground  and  blue  cross.  Now  the  boulders  were  foes, 
and  now  they  were  shields.  Men  knelt  behind  them  and  fired  up 
ward.  Officers  laid  aside  their  swords,  took  the  muskets  from  the 
dead,  knelt  and  fired.  But  the  crest  of  Round  Top  darted  lightnings 


174  CEASE  FIRING 

—  lightnings  and  bolts  of  leaden  death.  Death  rained  from  Round 
Top,  and  the  drops  beat  down  the  grey.  Hood  was  badly  hurt  in 
the  arm.  Fender  fell  mortally  wounded.  Anderson  was  wounded. 
Semmes  fell  mortally  wounded.  Barksdale  received  here  his  death- 
wound.  Amid  the  howl  of  the  storm,  in  the  leaden  air,  in  scorching, 
in  blood  and  pain  and  tumult  and  shouting,  the  small,  unheeded 
disk  of  the  sun  touched  the  western  rim  of  the  earth. 

A  wounded  man  lay  all  night  in  Devil's  Den.  There  were  other 
wounded  there,  but  the  great  boulders  hid  them  from  one  another. 
This  man  lay  in  a  rocky  angle,  upon  the  overhanging  lip  of  the  place. 
Below  him,  smoke  clung  like  a  cerement  to  the  far-flung  earth.  For 
a  time  smoke  was  about  him,  thick  in  his  nostrils.  For  a  time  it  hid 
the  sky.  But  now  all  firing  was  stayed,  the  night  was  wheeling  on, 
and  the  smoke  lifted.  Below,  vague  in  the  night-time,  were  seen 
flickering  lights  —  torches,  he  knew,  ambulances,  litter-  bearers, 
lifting,  serving  one  in  a  hundred.  They  were  far  away,  scattered 
over  the  stricken  field.  They  would  not  come  up  here  to  Devil's  Den. 
He  knew  they  would  not  come,  and  he  watched  them  as  the  ship 
wrecked  watch  the  sail  upon  the  horizon  that  has  not  seen  their  sig 
nal,  and  that  will  not  see  it.  He,  shipwrecked  here,  had  waved  no 
cloth,  but,  idle  as  it  was,  he  had  tried  to  shout.  His  voice  had  fallen 
like  a  broken-winged  bird.  Now  he  lay,  in  a  pool  of  his  own  blood, 
not  greatly  in  pain,  but  dying.  Presently  he  grew  light-headed, 
though  not  so  much  so  but  that  he  knew  that  he  was  light-headed, 
and  could  from  time  to  time  reason  with  his  condition.  He  was  a 
reading  man,  and  something  of  a  thinker,  and  now  his  mind  in  its 
wanderings  struck  into  all  manner  of  by-paths. 

For  a  time  he  thought  that  the  field  below  was  the  field  of  Water 
loo.  He  remembered  seeing,  while  it  was  yet  light,  a  farmhouse,  a 
distant  cluster  of  buildings  with  a  frightened  air.  "La  Belle  Alli 
ance,"  he  thought,  "or  Hougomont  —  which?  —  These  Belgians 
planted  a  lot  of  wheat,  and  now  there  are  red  poppies  all  through  it. 
-  Where  is  Ney  and  his  cavalry?  —  No,  Stuart  and  his  cavalry  — " 
His  mind  righted  for  a  moment.  "This  is  a  long  battle,  and  a  long 
night.  Come,  Death!  Come,  Death!"  The  shadowy  line  of  boulders 
became  a  line  of  Deaths,  tall,  draped  figures  bearing  scythes.  Three 
Deaths,  then  a  giant  hour-glass,  then  three  Deaths,  then  the  hour 
glass.  He  stared,  fascinated.  ''Which  scythe  ?  The  one  that  starts 


GETTYSBURG  175 

out  of  line  —  now  if  I  can  keep  them  still  in  line  —  just  so  long  will  I 
live!"  He  stared  for  a  while,  till  the  Deaths  became  boulders  again 
and  his  ringers  fell  to  playing  with  the  thickening  blood  on  the  ground 
beside  him.  A  meteor  pierced  the  night  —  a  white  fire-ball  thrown 
from  the  ramparts  of  the  sky.  He  seemed  to  be  rushing  with  it, 
rushing,  rushing,  rushing,  —  a  rushing  river.  There  was  a  heavy 
sound.  As  his  head  sank  back  he  saw  again  the  line  of  Deaths,  and 
the  one  that  left  the  line. 

Below,  through  the  night,  the  wind  that  blew  over  the  wheat- 
fields  and  the  meadows,  the  orchards  and  the  woods,  was  a  moaning 
wind.  It  was  a  wind  with  a  human  voice. 

Dawn  came,  but  the  guns  smeared  her  translucence  with  black. 
The  sun  rose,  but  the  ravens'  wings  hid  him.  Dull  red  and  sickly 
copper  was  this  day,  hidden  and  smothered  by  dark  wreaths. 
Many  things  happened  in  it,  variation  and  change  that  cast  a  tendril 
toward  the  future. 

Day  drove  on;  sultry  and  loud  and  smoky.  A  squad  of  soldiers  in 
a  fence  corner,  waiting  for  the  order  forward,  exchanged  opinions. 
"Three  days.  We're  going  to  fight  forever  —  and  ever  —  and 
ever."  —  "You  may  be.  I  ain't.  I'm  going  to  fight  through  to 
where  there's  peace—"  "' Peace!'  How  do  you  spell  it?" 
"'They  cry  Peace!  Peace!  and  there  is  no  Peace!":  -"D'ye 
reckon  if  one  of  us  took  a  bucket  and  went  over  to  that  spring  there, 
he'd  be  shot?"  -"Of  course  he  would!  Besides,  where 's  the 
bucket?"  — "I've  got  a  canteen."  —  "I've  got  a  cup—"  "Say, 
Sergeant,  can  we  go  ?"  —  "No.  You'll  be  killed."  •  -  "I'd  just  as 
soon  be  killed  as  to  perish  of  thirst!  Besides,  a  shell '11  come  plump 
ing  down  directly  and  kill  us  anyhow. ' '  — ' '  Talk  of  something  pleas 
ant."  —  "Jim's  caught  a  grasshopper!  Poor  little  hoppergrass,  you 
ought  n't  to  be  out  here  in  this  wide  and  wicked  world!  Let  him  go, 
Jim."  —  "How  many  killed  and  wounded  do  you  reckon  there  are?  " 
—  "Thirty  thousand  of  us,  and  sixty  thousand  of  them."  —  "I 
wish  that  smoke  would  lift  so's  we  could  see  something!"  —  "Look 
out  I  Look  out !  Get  out  of  this  I " 

Two  men  crawled  away  from  the  crater  made  by  the  shell.  A 
heavy  tussock  of  grass  in  their  path  stopped  them.  One  rose  to  his 
knees,  the  other,  who  was  wounded,  took  the  posture  of  the  dying 
Gaul  in  the  Capitolme.  "Who  are  you?"  said  the  one.  —  "I  am 


1 76  CEASE   FIRING 

Jim  Dudley.   Who  are  you?"  —  "I  —  I  didn't  know  you,  Jim. 
I'm  Randolph.  —  Well,  we're  all  that's  left." 

The  dead  horses  lay  upon  this  field  one  and  two  and  three  days  in 
the  furnace  heat.  They  were  fearful  to  see  and  there  came  from 
them  a  fetid  odour.  But  the  scream  of  the  wounded  horses  was  worse 
than  the  sight  of  the  dead.  There  were  many  wounded  horses. 
They  lay  in  wood  and  field,  in  country  lane  and  orchard.  No  man 
tended  them,  and  they  knew  not  what  it  was  all  about.  To  and  fro 
and  from  side  to  side  of  the  vast,  cloud-wreathed  Mars's  Shield 
galloped  the  riderless  horses. 

At  one  of  the  clock  all  the  guns,  blue  and  grey,  opened  in  a  can 
nonade  that  shook  the  leaves  of  distant  trees.  A  smoke  as  of  Vesu 
vius  or  ^Etna,  sulphurous,  pungent,  clothed  the  region  of  battle. 
The  air  reverberated  and  the  hills  trembled.  The  roar  was  like  the 
roar  of  the  greatest  cataract  of  a  larger  world,  like  the  voice  of  a 
storm  sent  by  the  King  of  all  the  Genii.  Amid  its  deep  utterance 
the  shout  even  of  many  men  could  not  be  heard. 

Out  from  the  ranks  of  the  fortress's  defenders  rushed  a  grey, 
world-famous  charge.  It  was  a  division  charging  —  three  brigades 
en  echelon,  — five  thousand  men,  led  by  a  man  with  long  auburn 
locks.  Down  a  hill,  across  a  rolling  open,  up  an  opposite  slope,  — 
half  a  mile  in  all,  perhaps,  —  lay  their  road.  Mars  and  Bellona 
may  be  figured  in  the  air  above  it.  It  was  a  spectacle,  that  charge, 
fit  to  draw  the  fierce  eyes  and  warm  the  gloomy  souls  of  all  the  war 
rior  deities.  Woden  may  have  watched  and  the  Aztec  god.  The 
blue  artillery  crowned  that  opposite  slope,  and  other  slopes.  The 
blue  artillery  swung  every  muzzle;  it  spat  death  upon  the  five  thou 
sand.  The  five  thousand  went  steadily,  grey  and  cool  and  clear,  the 
vivid  flag  above  them.  A  light  was  on  their  bayonets  —  the  three 
lines  of  bayonets  —  the  three  brigades,  Garnett  and  Kemper  and  Ar- 
mistead.  A  light  was  in  the  eyes  of  the  men;  they  saw  the  fortress 
above  the  battle  clouds;  they  saw  their  homes,  and  the  watchers 
upon  the  ramparts.  They  went  steadily,  to  the  eyes  of  history  in 
a  curious,  unearthly  light,  the  light  of  a  turn  in  human  affairs,  the 
light  of  catastrophe,  the  light  of  an  ending  and  a  beginning. 

When  they  came  into  the  open  between  the  two  heights,  the 
massed  blue  infantry  turned  every  rifle  against  them.  There  poured 
a  leaden  rain  of  death.  Here,  too,  the  three  lines  met  an  enfilading 


GETTYSBURG  177 

fire  from  the  batteries  on  Round  Top.  Death  howled  and  threw 
himself  against  the  five  thousand;  in  the  air  above  might  be  heard 
the  Valkyries  calling.  There  were  not  now  five  thousand,  there  were 
not  now  four  thousand.  There  was  a  clump  of  trees  seen  like  spectres 
through  the  smoke.  It  rose  from  the  slope  which  was  the  grey  goal, 
from  the  slope  peopled  by  Federal  batteries,  with  a  great  Federal 
infantry  support  at  hand.  Toward  this  slope,  up  this  slope,  went 
Pickett's  charge. 

Garnett  fell  dead.  Kemper  and  Trimble  were  desperately 
wounded.  Save  Pickett  himself,  all  mounted  officers  were  down. 
The  men  fell  —  the  men  fell;  Death  swung  a  fearful  scythe.  There 
were  not  now  four  thousand,  there  were  not  now  three  thousand. 
And  still  the  vivid  flag  went  on ;  and  still,  high,  thrilling,  clear  and 
dauntless,  rose  from  Pickett's  charge  the  "rebel  yell." 

There  was  a  stone  wall  to  cross.  Armistead,  his  hat  upon  the 
point  of  his  waved  sword,  leaped  upon  the  coping.  A  bullet  pierced 
his  breast;  he  fell,  was  captured,  and  the  next  day  died.  By  now, 
by  now  the  charge  was  whittled  thin!  Oh,  thick  as  the  leaves  of 
Vallombrosa,  the  fortress's  dearest  and  best  lay  upon  that  slope 
beneath  the  ravens'  wings!  On  went  the  thin,  fierce  ranks,  on  and 
over  the  wall,  on  and  up,  into  the  midst  of  the  enemy's  guns.  The 
two  flags  strained  toward  each  other;  the  hands  of  the  grey  were 
upon  the  guns  of  the  blue;  there  came  a  wild  melee.  .  .  .  There 
were  not  two  thousand  now,  and  the  guns  were  yet  roaring,  and 
the  blue  infantry  gathered  from  all  sides.  .  .  . 

"The  smoke,"  says  one  Luther  Hopkins,  a  grey  soldier  who  was 
at  Gettysburg,  "the  smoke  rose  higher  and  higher  and  spread  wider 
and  wider,  hiding  the  sun,  and  then,  gently  dropping  back,  hid  from 
human  eyes  the  dreadful  tragedy.  But  the  battle  went  on  and  on, 
and  the  roar  of  the  guns  continued.  After  a  while,  when  the  sun  was 
sinking  to  rest,  there  was  a  hush.  The  noise  died  away.  The  winds 
came  creeping  back  from  the  west,  and  gently  lifting  the  coverlet  of 
smoke,  revealed  a  strange  sight.  The  fields  were  all  carpeted,  a 
beautiful  carpet,  a  costly  carpet,  more  costly  than  Axminster  or 
velvet.  The  figures  were  horses  and  men  all  matted  and  woven 
together  with  skeins  of  scarlet  thread." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

BACK   HOME 

IF  he  who  ruleth  his  spirit  is  greater  than  he  that  taketh  a 
city,  Robert  E.  Lee  was  a  general  doubly  great.  The  gallantry 
of  the  three  days'  fighting  at  Gettysburg  he  left  like  a  golden 
light,  like  a  laurel  wreath,  with  his  men.  The  responsibility  for 
Gettysburg,  its  strategy  and  its  tactics,  he  laid  with  quietness  upon 
his  own  shoulders  and  kept  it  there.  In  the  last  hour  of  the  third 
day,  after  the  last  great  charge,  after  Pickett's  charge,  when  the 
remnant  that  was  left  was  streaming  back,  he  rode  into  the  midst  of 
that  thin  grey  current.  He  sat  Traveller,  in  the  red  light,  in  the 
murk  and  sorrow  of  the  lost  battle,  and  called  upon  the  men  to  re 
form.  Pickett  came  by,  his  sword  out,  his  long  auburn  hair  dank 
with  sweat.  "  Get  your  men  together,  General,"  said  Lee.  "They 
did  nobly.  It  is  all  my  fault." 

If  the  boyishness  in  Jeb  Stuart,  his  dear  love  of  dancing  meteors, 
had  swept  him  in  the  past  weeks  too  far  from  his  proper  base,  he  was 
now  fully  and  to  the  end  by  his  general's  side.  He  kept  his  gaiety, 
his  panache,  but  he  put  on  the  full  man.  He  was  the  Stuart  of  Chan- 
cellorsville,  throwing  a  steady  dart,  swinging  a  great  shield.  Long- 
street,  the  "old  war  horse";  A.  P.  Hill,  red-shirted,  a  noble  fighter; 
"Dear  Dick  Ewell"  —  each  rose,  elastic,  from  the  disastrous  field 
and  played  the  man.  That  slow  retreat  from  Gettysburg  to  the 
Potomac,  through  a  hostile  country,  with  a  victorious,  larger  army 
hovering,  willing  to  strike  if  only  it  could  find  the  unguarded  place, 
was  masterly  planned,  masterly  done.  The  Army  of  Northern  Vir 
ginia  retired  grudgingly,  with  backward  turnings,  foot  planted  and 
spear  brandished.  It  had  with  it  pain  and  agony,  for  it  carried  its 
wounded;  it  had  with  it  appalling  knowledge  that  Vicksburg  was 
fallen,  that  the  battle  behind  them,  hard-fought  for  three  days,  was 
lost,  that  the  campaign  was  lost,  that  across  the  river  the  South  was 
mourning,  mourning,  that  at  last  all  were  at  the  death-grapple.  It 
knew  it  all,  but  it  went  steadily,  with  lips  that  could  yet  manage  a 


BACK   HOME  179 

smile.  For  all  its  freight  of  wounded,  for  all  the  mourning  of  its 
banners,  it  went  ably;  a  long,  masterly  retreat,  with  effective  stands 
and  threatenings.  But  how  the  wounded  suffered,  only  the  wounded 
knew. 

The  rain  came  down  as  it  usually  did  after  the  prolonged  cannon- 
adings  of  these  great  battles.  It  came  down  in  sullen  torrents,  un 
friendly,  cold,  deepening  the  deep  reaction  after  the  fever  of  the 
fight.  It  fell  in  showers  from  a  sky  leaden  all  the  day,  inky  all  the 
night.  At  twilight  on  the  fourth,  A.  P.  Hill  and  the  Third  Corps 
swung  in  silence  out  upon  the  Fountain  Dale  and  Monterey  road. 
They  marched  away  in  the  rain  and  darkness.  All  night  Longstreet 
and  the  First  stayed  in  position  at  the  Peach  Orchard.  But  the  foe 
did  not  attack,  and  at  dawn  Longstreet  and  the  First  followed  A.  P. 
Hill.  When  the  dawn  broke,  grey  and  wet,  Ewell  and  the  Second 
Corps  alone  were  there  by  Seminary  Ridge.  Again  the  blue  — 
they  also  gathering  their  wounded,  they  also  mourning  their  dead 
—  made  no  movement  to  attack.  Ewell  and  the  Second  followed 
the  First. 

The  rain  came  down,  the  rain  came  down  —  rain  and  wind  and 
low-hanging  clouds.  Forty  thousand  men  marched  in  a  silence 
which,  now  and  then,  it  was  felt,  must  be  broken.  Men  broke  it, 
with  song  that  had  somehow  a  sob  in  it,  with  laughter  more  strained 
than  jovial.  Then  came  down  the  silence  again,  leaden  with  the 
leaden  rain.  But  march  in  silence,  or  march  in  mirth,  the  Army  of 
Northern  Virginia  marched  with  its  morale  unbroken.  Tramp, 
tramp!  through  the  shifting  sheets  of  rain,  through  the  wind  that 
bent  the  tree-tops.  .  .  .  With  Hood's  division  marched  four  thou 
sand  and  more  of  Federal  prisoners.  With  these,  too,  the  silence 
was  heavy. 

But  there  was  not  silence  when  it  came  to  the  fearful  train  of  the 
wounded.  Fifteen  miles,  along  the  Chambersburg  Pike,  stretched 
the  train  of  the  wounded  and  of  ordnance  and  supply  wagons,  with 
its  escort  of  cavalry  and  a  score  of  guns.  The  convoy  was  in  the 
charge  of  Imboden,  and  he  was  doing  the  best  he  could  with  those 
long  leagues  of  hideous  woe.  The  road  was  rough ;  the  night  dark, 
with  wind  and  rain.  "  Woe  I "  cried  the  wind.  "  Woe,  woe !  Pain  and 
woe!" 

Ambulances,  carts,  wagons,  crowded  with  the  wounded,  went 


i8o  CEASE   FIRING 

jokingly,  under  orders  to  use  all  speed.  Cavalry  rode  before,  cavalry 
guarded  the  rear,  but  few  were  the  actual  guards  in  among  or  along 
side  the  wagons.  Vanguard  and  rear  guard  needed  every  unhurt 
man.  For  miles  there  were,  in  sum,  only  the  wounded,  the  jaded 
wagon  horses,  the  wagon  drivers  with  drawn  faces.  Orders  were  for 
no  pausing,  no  halts.  If  a  wagon  became  disabled,  draw  it  out  of  the 
road  and  leave  it!  There  must  be  rapid  travelling  through  the  night. 
Even  so,  if  the  blue  were  alert,  the  blue  might  strike  the  train  before 
day.  Rapid  motion  and  no  halting  —  "  On ! "  beneath  the  blackness, 
in  the  teeth  of  wind  and  rain.  "  Woe ! "  cried  the  wind.  "  Woe,  woe ! 
Pain  and  woe!" 

The  wagons  were  springless.  In  many  there  was  no  straw.  Num 
bers  of  the  wounded  lay  upon  bare  boards,  placed  there,  in  some 
cases,  hours  even  before  the  convoy  could  start.  Many  had  had  no 
food  for  long  hours,  no  water.  Their  rough  clothing,  stiff  with  dried 
blood,  abraded  and  inflamed  their  wounds.  The  surgeons  had  done 
what  bandaging  was  possible,  but  many  a  ghastly  hurt  went  un 
bound,  unlocked  to.  With  others  the  bandages  slipped,  or  were  torn 
aside  by  pain-maddened  hands.  There  was  blood  upon  the  bed  of 
all  the  wagons,  blood  and  human  refuse.  Upon  the  boards  lay  men 
with  their  eyes  gone,  with  their  jaws  shot  through  and  crushed,  with 
their  arms,  their  legs  mangled,  with  their  thighs  pierced,  their  bow 
els  pierced,  with  tormenting  stomach  wounds,  with  a  foot  gone,  a 
hand  gone.  There  were  men  with  fever  and  a  horrible  thirst,  and 
men  who  shook  in  a  death  chill.  There  were  men  who  were  dead. 
And  on  them  all  poured  the  rain,  for  the  canvas  wagon  covers, 
flapping  in  the  wind,  could  not  keep  it  out.  And  the  road,  cut  by 
countless  wheels  and  now  washed  into  ridge  and  hollow,  would  have 
been  rough  for  well  folk,  in  cushioned  vehicles.  "On !  On !  No  halt 
ing  for  any  one !  —  Good  God,  man !  Don't  I  know  they  are  suffer 
ing?  Don't  I  hear  them?  Do  you  reckon  I  like  to  hear  them?  But 
if  I'm  going  to  save  General  Lee's  trains  I've  got  to  get  on!  Get 
on,  there!"  "  Woe!"  cried  the  wind.  "Woe,  woe!  pain  and  woe." 

"Oh,  Jesus  Christ,  have  mercy  upon  me!" 

"Just  let  me  die,  O  God!  just  let  me  die!" 

"  If  there 's  anybody  at  all  outside,  won't  they  stop  this  wagon?  If 
there's  anybody  driving,  won't  you  stop  this  wagon?  Please!  You 
don't  know  how  it  hurts  —  Please !  .  .  Ah !  —  Aaahh  I  —  Aaahhh  1 " 


BACK   HOME  181 

"Curse  you!  —  Curse  war!  —  Curse  living  and  dying!  Curse 
God!  Ah!  —  Akhh!  —  Aaahhh!" 

"For  God's  sake!  just  lift  us  out  and  let  us  die  lying  still,  on  the 
roadside.  .  .  .  OGodJOGod!" 

"O  God!  OGod!" 

"I  am  dying!  I  am  dying!  .  .  .  Mary,  Mary,  Mary!  Lift  me 
up!" 

"We  are  dying!  We  are  dying!" 

"O  Jesus  of  Nazareth— " 

"During  this  one  night,"  says  Imboden,  "I  realized  more  of  the 
horrors  of  war  than  I  had  in  all  the  two  preceding  years." 

The  Second  Corps,  marching  by  the  Fairfield  road,  marched  in 
rain  and  wind  and  weariness.  Ewell,  wooden-legged  now,  irascible, 
heroic,  sighing  for  "Old  Jackson,"  handling  his  corps  as  "Old 
Jackson  "  would  have  approved,  rode  in  front.  Jubal  Early,  strange 
compound  but  admirable  fighter,  —  Jubal  Early  guarded  the  rear 
with  the  brigades  of  Hoke  and  Smith  and  Gordon  and  Harry  Hays. 
Between  were  Rodes's  division  —  Iverson  and  Daniels,  Dole,  Ram- 
seur  and  O'Neal  —  and  "Alleghany"  Johnson's  division  —  Steuart 
and  Jones  and  Nicholls  and  the  Stonewall  Brigade.  With  each 
division  heavily  moved  upon  the  road  its  artillery  —  Charlottesville 
Artillery,  Staunton  Artillery,  Louisiana  Guard  Artillery,  Courtney 
Artillery,  King  William  Artillery,  Orange  Artillery,  Morris  Artillery, 
Jeff  Davis  Artillery,  Chesapeake  Artillery,  Alleghany  Artillery, 
First  Maryland  Battery,  Lee  Battery,  Powhatan  Artillery,  Salem 
Artillery,  Rockbridge  Artillery,  Third  Richmond  Howitzers,  Second 
Richmond  Howitzers,  Amherst  Artillery,  Fluvanna  Artillery,  Mil- 
ledge's  Georgia  Battery. 

The  Stonewall  Brigade  bent  its  head  and  took  the  blast.  The  rain 
streamed  from  the  slanted  forest  of  rifle  barrels;  the  wind  blew  out 
the  officer's  capes;  the  colours  had  to  be  furled  against  it.  All  the 
colours  were  smoke-darkened,  shot-riddled.  The  Stonewall  was  a 
veteran  brigade.  It  had  an  idea  that  it  had  been  engaged  in  war 
since  the  rains  first  came  upon  the  earth.  Walker,  its  general,  a 
good  and  gallant  man,  plodded  at  its  head,  his  hat  brim  streaming 
wet,  his  horse's  breath  making  a  little  cloud.  Tramp  I  tramp  I  be 
hind  him  marched  the  Stonewall  —  a  long,  swinging  gait,  a  "foot 
cavalry"  gait. 


1 82  CEASE   FIRING 

The  Sixty-fifth  Virginia,  Colonel  Erskine,  covered  the  way  with  a 
mountain  stride.  It  was  nearing  now  the  pass  of  the  South  Moun 
tain,  and  its  road  lay  uphill.  It  had  done  good  service  at  Gettys 
burg,  and  it  had  its  wounded  in  that  anguished  column  over  on 
the  Chambersburg  Pike.  It  had  left  its  dead  upon  the  field.  Now, 
climbing  the  long  hills,  colours  slanted  forward,  keen,  bronzed  faces 
slanted  forward,  man  and  beast  streaming  rain  and  all  battling  with 
the  gusty  wind,  the  Sixty-fifth  missed  its  dead,  missed  its  wounded, 
knew  that  the  army  had  suffered  defeat,  knew  that  the  high  hopes 
of  this  campaign  lay  in  ashes,  knew  that  these  days  formed  a  crisis 
in  the  war,  knew  that  all  the  sky  had  darkened  over  the  South, 
knew  that  before  it  lay  grim  struggle  and  a  doubtful  end.  The  units 
of  the  Sixty-fifth  knew  many  things  that  in  the  old  piping  time  of 
peace  they  had  never  thought  to  know. 

The  grain  in  the  fields  was  all  broken  down,  the  woods  clashed 
their  branches,  through  flawed  sheets  of  dull  silver  the  distant  moun 
tain  crests  were  just  divined.  The  wind  howled  like  a  banshee,  and 
for  all  that  it  was  July  the  air  was  cold.  The  Sixty-fifth  thought  of 
other  marches.  Before  McDowell  —  Elk  Run  Valley  —  that  was 
bad.  Elk  Run  Valley  was  bad.  Before  Mechanicsville  —  coming 
down  from  Beaver  Dam  Station  —  that  was  bad.  Bath  to  Romney 

—  that  was  worst.  .  .  .  We  Ve  had  plenty  of  bad  marches  —  plenty 
of  marches  —  plenty  of  heroic  marches.  We  are  used  to  marching 

—  used  to  marching  .  .  .  Marching  and  fighting  —  marching  and 
fighting.  .  .  . 

Tall  and  lean  and  tanned,  the  Thunder  Run  men  opposed  the 
wind  from  the  mountains.  Allan  Gold  and  Sergeant  Billy  Maydew 
exchanged  observations. 

"I  would  n't  be  tired,"  said  Billy,  "going  up  Thunder  Run  Moun 
tain.  I  air  not  tired  anyhow." 

"No,  there's  no  help  in  being  tired.  ...  I  hope  that  Tom  and 
Sairy  are  dry  and  warm  — 

"I  don't  mind  wet,"  said  Billy,  "  and  I  don't  mind  cold,  and  I  can 
tighten  my  belt  when  I  'm  hungry,  but  the  thing  that  air  hard  for  me 
to  stand  air  going  without  sleep.  I  tell  my  will  to  hold  hard  and  I 
put  tobacco  in  my  eyes,  but  sleep  sure  air  a  hard  thing  for  me  to  go 
without.  I  could  sleep  now  —  I  could  sleep  —  I  could  sleep  .  .  . 
Yes;  I  hope  all  Thunder  Run  air  dry  and  warm  —  Mr.  Cole  and  Mrs. 


BACK   HOME  183 

Cole  and  Mother  and  Christianna  and  Violetta  and  Rosalinda  and 
the  children  and  Grandpap  and  the  dawgs  and  Steve  Dagg  —  No; 
I  kinder  hope  Steve  air  wet  and  whimpering.  .  .  .  Thunder  Run 's 
a  long  way  off.  I  could  go  to  sleep  —  and  sleep  —  and  sleep  .  .  ." 

"I'm  not  sleepy,"  said  Allan.  "But  I  wish  I  had  a  pitcher  of 
milk—" 

The  Sixty-fifth  determined  to  try  singing. 

"O  my  Lawd,  whar  you  gwine  ? 

Keep  in  de  middle  ob  de  road! 
Gwine  de  way  dat  Moses  trod, 
Keep  in  de  middle  ob  de  road  — " 

"The  butcher  had  a  little  dog, 

And  Bingo  was  his  name. 
BB-i-n-g-o-go !  B-i-n-g-o-go ! 
And  Bingo  was  his  name  — ' 

Toward  four  o'clock,  as  the  head  of  the  column  neared  Fairfield, 
came  from  the  rear  a  burst  of  firing  —  musketry,  then  artillery. 
There  was  a  halt,  then  the  main  body  resumed  the  march.  Early, 
in  the  rear,  deployed  Gordon's  brigade  and  fought  back  the  long  skir 
mish  line  of  the  pursuing  blue.  Throughout  the  remainder  of  the 
afternoon  there  was  fitful  firing  —  sound,  water-logged  like  all  else, 
rising  dully  from  the  rear.  Down  came  the  night,  dark  as  a  bat's 
wing.  The  Second  Corps  bivouacked  a  mile  from  Fairfield,  and, 
waking  now  and  then  in  the  wet  and  windy  night,  heard  the  rear 
guard  repelling  half-hearted  attacks. 

Reveille  echoed  among  the  hills.  The  Second  rose  beneath  a  still 
streaming  sky.  The  Stonewall,  camped  on  a  hillside,  sought  for 
wood  for  its  fires  and  found  but  little,  and  that  too  wet  to  burn.  It 
was  fortunate,  perhaps,  that  there  was  so  little  to  cook.  The  Sixty- 
fifth  squatted  around  a  dozen  pin-points  of  light  and  did  its  best 
with  the  scrapings  of  its  commissary.  "  Well,  boys,  the  flesh  pots  of 
Egypt  have  given  us  the  go-by!  D'ye  remember  that  breakfast  at 
Greencastle?  Oohh  !  Was  n't  it  good?  "...  "  Hold  your  hat  over 
the  fire  or  it'll  go  out!"  .  .  .  "I  wish  we  had  some  coffee  .  .  ." 
"Listen  at  Gordon,  way  back  there,  popping  away  at  Yanks!  — 
Did  you  hear  about  his  men  burning  fence  rails  ?  No  ?  —  well, 
'twas  out  beyond  York.  'Men!'  says  Marse  Robert's  General 
Order,  'don't  tech  a  thing!'  'All  right,  Marse  Robert!'  says  we,  as 


1 84  CEASE   FIRING 

you  can  testify.  Gordon's  as  chivalrous  as  Young  Lochinvar,  or  ' A 
Chieftain  to  the  Highlands  Bound,'  or  Bayard,  or  any  of  them  fel 
lows.  So  he  piles  on  an  order,  too.  '  Don't  touch  a  thing!  especially 
not  the  fences.  Gather  your  wood  where  Nature  has  flung  it ! '  Well, 
those  Georgia  boys  had  to  camp  that  night  where  Nature  had  n't 
flung  any  wood  —  neither  Cedar  of  Lebanon  nor  darned  pawpaw 
bush !  Just  a  nice  bare  field  with  rail  fences  —  our  kind  of  fences. 
Nice,  old,  dry,  seasoned  rails.  Come  along  Gordon,  riding  magnifi 
cently.  '  General,  the  most  wood  around  here  is  musket  stocks,  and 
of  course  we  ain't  going  to  burn  them!  Can't  we  take  just  a  few 
rails? '  '  Boys,'  says  Gordon,  being  like  a  young  and  handsome  father 
to  his  men.  'Boys,  you  can  take  the  top  rail.  That  will  leave  the 
fences  high  enough  for  the  farmer's  purposes.  Now,  mind  me!  don't 
lay  your  hand  on  anything  but  the  top  rail ! '  And  off  he  goes,  look 
ing  like  a  picture  —  leaf  of  Round  Table,  or  what  not.  Whereupon 
company  by  company  marched  up  and  each  tookin  turn  the  top  rail." 

"Must  have  been  an  all-fired  lasting  top  rail  — " 

" — And  they  had  supper  and  went  to  bed  cheered  and  com 
forted.  And  by  and  by,  in  the  morning,  just  after  reveille,  comes 
Gordon,  fresh  as  a  daisy.  And  he  looks  at  the  boundaries  of  that 
field,  and  he  colours  up.  'Men,'  he  says  in  a  kind  of  grieved  anger, 
'you  have  disobeyed  orders!'  Whereupon  those  innocents  rose  up 
and  assured  him  that  not  a  man  had  touched  anything  but  a  top 
rail!" 

Fall  in  !  Fall  in  /  Column  Forward  / 

It  rained,  and  rained.  You  saw  the  column  as  through  smoke, 
winding  toward  the  pass  of  the  South  Mountain.  From  the  rear 
came  fitfully  the  sound  of  musketry.  But  there  was  no  determined 
pursuit.  Early  kept  the  rear;  Stuart,  off  in  the  rain  and  mist,  lion- 
bold,  and,  throughout  the  long  retreat  to  the  fortress,  greatly  saga 
cious,  guarded  the  flanks.  A.  P.  Hill  and  Longstreet  were  now  be 
yond  the  mountains,  swinging  southward  by  the  Ringgold  road. 
With  the  First  and  the  Third  rode  Lee,  grey  on  grey  Traveller,  in 
the  grey  rain,  his  face  turned  homeward,  turned  toward  the  fortress 
of  the  South,  vast,  mournful,  thenceforth  trebly  endangered.  It  was 
the  sixth  of  July.  A  year  ago  had  been  the  Seven  Days. 

Back  on  the  road  of  the  wounded  there  was  trouble.  Imboden, 
having  crossed  the  mountain,  determined  upon  a  short  cut  by  a 


BACK   HOME  185 

country  road  to  Greencastle.  On  through  the  small  town  rode  the 
vanguard,  the  Eighteenth  Virginia  Cavalry.  Behind,  as  rapidly  as 
might  be,  came  the  immense  and  painful  train.  On  the  outskirts  of 
the  place  a  band  of  civilians  attacked  a  weakly  guarded  portion  of 
the  column.  They  had  axes,  and  with  these  they  hewed  in  two  the 
wagon  yokes  or  cut  the  spokes  from  the  wheels.  The  wagon  beds 
dropped  heavily  upon  the  earth.  "Ahh!"  groaned  the  wounded. 
"Ahhh!  Aaaahhl" 

Back  in  wrath  came  a  detachment  of  the  Eighteenth,  scattering 
or  capturing  the  wielders  of  axes.  The  long  train  passed  Greencastle. 
Before  it  lay  the  road  to  Williamsport,  the  road  to  the  Potomac.  The 
rain  was  streaming,  the  wind  howling,  and  now  the  Federal  cavalry 
made  its  appearance.  All  the  rest  of  the  day  the  train  was  subjected 
to  small  sudden  attacks,  descents  now  on  this  section,  now  on  that. 
The  grey  escort,  cavalry  and  artillery,  beat  them  off  like  stinging 
bees;  the  grey  wagoners  plied  their  long  whips,  the  exhausted  horses 
strained  forward  yet  again,  under  the  wagon  wheel  was  felt  again 
the  ridge  and  hollow  of  the  storm- washed  road.  "  Woe!  "  cried  the 
wind.  "Woe,  woe!  Pain  and  woe!" 

There  came  a  report  that  blue  troops  held  Williamsport,  but  when 
late  in  a  stormy  afternoon  the  head  of  Imboden's  column  came  to 
this  place,  so  known  by  now,  frontier,  with  only  the  moat  of  the 
river  between  the  foe's  territory  and  the  fortress's  territory,  —  when 
the  advance  rode  into  town,  there  were  found  only  peaceful  Mary- 
landers.  The  grey  convoy  occupied  Williamsport.  At  last  the  tor 
turing  wagons  stopped,  at  last  the  moaning  hurt  were  lifted  out,  at 
la^t  the  surgeons  could  help,  at  last  the  dead  were  parted  from  the 
living.  Imboden  requisitioned  all  the  kitchens  of  the  place.  There 
arose  a  semblance  of  warmth,  a  pale  ghost  of  cheer.  Here  and  there 
sounded  even  a  weak  laugh. 

"Say,  Doctor!  after  hell,  purgatory  seems  kind  of  good  to  us! 
That  was  hell  back  there  on  the  road  —  hell  if  ever  there  was  hell 
.  .  .  Ouch!  .  .  .  Ooooghh!  Doctor!" 

"Doctor,  do  you  reckon  I'll  live  to  get  across?  I  want  to  see  my 
wife  —  I  want  to  see  her  so  badly.  —  There 's  a  boy,  too,  and  I  Ve 
never  seen  him — " 

"How  air  we  going  to  get  across  ?  Air  there  boats?" 

"  Who's  keeping  the  Yankees  away  ?  Jeb  Stuart?  That's  good 


1 86  CEASE  FIRING 

Oh,  Doctor,  you  ain't  going  to  cut  it  off?  Please,  Doctor,  please,  sir, 
don't!  No,  it  won't  mortify  —  I'm  just  as  sure  of  that!  Please  just 
put  it  in  splints.  It  ain't  so  badly  hurt  —  it  ain't  hurting  me  hardly 
any.  .  .  .  Doctor,  Doctor!  for  God's  sake!  —  Why,  I  could  n't  walk 
any  more!  —  why,  I'd  have  to  leave  the  army!  .  .  .  Doctor,  please 
don't  —  please  don't  cut  it  off,  sir.  .  .  ." 

The  rain  came  down,  the  rain  came  down,  a  drenching,  sullen 
storm.  Wide,  yellow,  and  swollen  rolled  the  Potomac  before  Wil- 
liamsport.  Imboden  procured  several  flatboats,  and  proceeded  to 
the  ferrying  across  of  those  of  the  more  slightly  wounded  who 
thought  that  once  in  Virginia  they  might  somehow  get  to  Winchester. 
In  the  midst  of  this  work  came  news  of  the  approach  of  a  large 
force  of  Federal  cavalry  and  artillery  —  Buford  and  Kilpatrick's 
divisions  hurrying  down  from  Frederick. 

Imboden  posted  every  gun  with  him  on  the  heights  between  the 
town  and  the  river.  Hart,  Eshleman,  McClanahan  —  all  faced  the 
eighteen  rifled  guns  with  which  presently  the  blue  opened.  A  sharp 
artillery  battle  followed,  each  side  firing  with  rapidity  and  some 
effect.  Imboden  had  his  cavalry  and  in  addition  seven  hundred 
wagoners  organized  into  companies  and  headed  by  commissaries, 
quartermasters,  and  several  wounded  officers.  These  wagoners  did 
mightily.  This  fight  was  called  afterwards  "The  Wagoners'  Battle." 
Five  blue  cavalry  regiments  were  thrown  forward.  The  Eighteenth 
Virginia  Cavalry  and  the  Sixty-second  Virginia  Mounted  Infantry 
met  them  with  clangour  in  the  rain-filled  air.  McNeilPs  Partisan 
Rangers  came  to  the  aid  of  the  wagoners  down  by  the  river.  Eshle- 
man's  eight  Napoleons  of  the  Washington  Artillery,  Hart's  and  Mc- 
Clanahan's  and  Moore's  batteries  poured  shot  and  shell  from  the 
heights.  Through  the  dusk  came  at  a  gallop  a  courier  from  Fitzhugh 
Lee.  "Hold  out,  General  Imboden!  We're  close  at  hand!"  From 
the  direction  of  the  Hagerstown  road  broke  a  clap  of  war  thunder, 
rolling  among  the  hills.  "Horse  Artillery!  Horse  Artillery !"  yelled 
Imboden's  lines,  the  Eighteenth,  the  Sixty-second,  the  Partisan 
Rangers,  and  the  Wagoners.  Yaaaihh  !  Yaaaaihh  I  Yaaaaaaihhh  I 
Forward,  I  Charge  / 

July  the  seventh  broke  wet  and  stormy.  The  First  and  Third 
Corps  were  now  at  Hagerstown.  Ewell  and  the  Second  nearer  South 
Mountain,  yet  watchfully  regarding  the  defiles  through  which  might 


BACK   HOME  187 

pour  the  pursuit.  But  Meade  had  hesitated,  hesitated.  It  was  only 
on  the  afternoon  of  the  fifth  that  a  move  southward  was  begun  in 
earnest.  The  Sixth  Corps,  on  the  same  road  with  Ewell,  struck  now 
and  again  at  the  grey  rear  guard,  but  the  rest  of  the  great  blue  army 
hung  uncertain.  Only  on  the  seventh  did  it  pour  southward,  through 
the  country  between  the  Monocacy  and  the  Antietam.  In  the  dusk 
of  this  day  Lee  met  Stuart  and  ordered  an  attack  at  dawn.  Time 
must  be  gained  while  a  bridge  was  built  across  the  swollen  river. 

All  day  the  eighth  the  heavy  air  carried  draggingly  the  sound  of 
cannon.  So  drowned  with  rain  were  the  fields  and  meadows  that 
manoeuvring  there  was  manoeuvring  in  quagmires.  The  horsemen 
of  both  sides  must  keep  to  the  roads,  deep  in  mire  as  were  these. 
Dismounted,  they  fought  with  carbines  in  all  the  sopping  ways, 
while  from  every  slight  rise  the  metal  duellists  barked  at  one  another. 
At  last  the  Fifth  Confederate  Brigade  drove  the  Federal  left,  and 
the  running  fight  and  the  long  wet  day  closed  with  one  gleam  of  light 
in  the  west. 

On  July  the  ninth  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  occupied  a 
ten-mile  line  from  the  Potomac  at  Mercersville  to  the  Hagerstown 
and  Williamsport  road.  A.  P.  Hill  held  the  centre,  Longstreet  the 
right,  Ewell  the  left,  stretching  toward  Hagerstown.  Forty  thou 
sand  infantry  and  artillery  stood  ready.  Stuart  with  eight  thousand 
horsemen  drew  off  to  the  north,  watching  like  a  falcon,  ready  for  the 
pounce.  The  rain  ceased  to  fall.  A  pale  sunshine  bathed  the  country, 
and  in  it  gleamed  the  steel  of  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia.  The 
banners  grew  vivid. 

All  day  Lee  waited  in  line  of  battle,  but  Meade  was  yet  hesitant. 
The  tenth  dawned,  and  Stuart  sent  word  that  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac  was  advancing  through  the  defiles  of  South  Mountain. 
All  this  day  the  grey  dug  trenches  and  heaped  breastworks.  The 
sun  shone,  ill  was  forgotten;  hope  sprang,  nourished  by  steadfast 
ness.  There  were  slight  cavalry  encounters.  The  night  of  the  tenth 
was  a  warm  and  starry  one.  The  grey  slept  and  rose  refreshed. 
Ewell  and  the  Second  now  left  Hagerstown.  Each  corps  commanded 
one  of  the  three  roads  glimmering  eastward,  and  Stuart  patrolled  all 
the  valley  of  the  Antietam.  Lee  had  laid  his  pontoon  bridge  across 
to  Falling  Waters.  All  night  long  there  passed  into  Virginia  the 
wounded  and  a  great  portion  of  the  trains. 


1 88  CEASE   FIRING 

July  twelfth  was  a  day  of  cloud  and  mist.  Still  the  grey  waited ; 
still  Meade,  with  his  sixty-five  thousand  infantry  and  artillery,  his 
ten  thousand  cavalry,  hung  irresolute.  Kelly  at  Hancock  had  eight 
thousand  men.  He  could  be  trusted  to  flank  the  grey.  And  in  the 
rear  of  the  grey  was  the  river,  turbid,  wide,  deep,  so  swollen  as 
hardly  to  be  fordable.  Halleck  telegraphed  Meade  from  Washing 
ton  peremptory  orders  to  attack.  But  the  twelfth  passed  with  only 
slight  encounters  between  reconnoitring  parties. 

On  the  thirteenth  down  came  the  rain  again,  a  thick,  cold,  shifting 
veil  of  wet.  Again  Meade  stayed  in  his  tents.  The  Army  of  the  Poto 
mac  understood  that  on  the  morrow  it  would  attack.  In  the  mean 
time  reinforcements  were  at  hand. 

That  night,  in  the  rainy  dusk,  Stuart  drew  a  cordon  between  the 
opposed  forces.  Behind  the  screen  of  horsemen,  behind  the  impen 
etrable,  rainy  night,  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  prepared  to  re- 
cross  the  Potomac.  Beneath  the  renewed  rains  the  river  was  steadily 
rising;  it  was  go  now,  or  abide  the  onset  of  the  sixty-five  thousand 
along  the  Antietam  and  on  the  Sharpsburg  Pike,  with  Kelly's  eight 
thousand  marching  from  Hancock,  and  other  troops  on  the  road  from 
Chambersburg.  Down  came  the  rain  and  the  night  was  Egyptian 
black. 

The  artillery  and  the  balance  of  the  trains  must  cross  by  the  pon 
toon  bridge.  Bonfires  were  built  on  the  northern  and  the  southern 
bank,  but  all  the  wood  was  wet,  and  the  flickering  light  proved  deceit 
ful  as  any  darkness.  The  rolling  smoke  mounted  and  overhung  the 
landings  like  genii  from  Arabian  bottles.  With  sullen  noise  the  guns 
crossed,  hour  after  hour  of  sullen  noise.  The  wagons  with  the 
wounded  crossed.  A  heavy  wagon,  in  which  the  badly  hurt  were  laid 
thick,  missed  its  way,  and,  with  its  horses,  went  blindly  over  the 
side  into  the  rushing  water,  where  all  were  drowned.  After  the  guns 
and  the  wagons  came  the  men  of  Longstreet's  corps.  Dawn  found 
the  First  not  yet  over-passed,  while  the  Third  waited  on  the  pebbly 
stretch  between  the  water  and  the  hills.  In  the  mean  time  Ewell  and 
the  Second  had  undertaken  the  ford. 

That  which,  a  month  before,  had  been  a  pleasant  summer  river,  — 
clear,  wide,  and  tranquil,  not  deep,  and  well  known  by  now  to  the 
Second  Corps,  —  was  to-night  a  monster  of  the  dark,  a  mill-race  of 
the  Titans.  The  heaped  wood  set  afire  on  either  bank  lit  the  water 


BACK   HOME  189 

but  a  few  yards  outward.  Between  the  several  glares  was  darkness 
shot  with  rain,  shaken  by  wind.  And  always  the  bonfires  showed 
thronging  men,  a  broad  moving  ribbon  running  upwards  and  back 
from  the  water's  edge,  and  between  these  two  throngs  a  void  and 
blackness.  It  was  like  a  vision  of  the  final  river  —  a  great  illus 
tration  out  of  "Pilgrim's  Progress."  Company  by  company  went 
down  into  the  river;  company  by  company  slowly  mounted  on  the 
farther  side,  coming  up  from  the  water  into  strange  light,  beneath 
tall  shadowy  trees.  The  water  was  up  to  the  armpits.  It  was 
cold  and  rushing  water.  The  men  tied  their  cartridge  boxes  around 
their  necks;  they  held  their  muskets  above  their  heads;  now  and 
again  a  short  man  was  carried  across  upon  the  shoulders  of  a  tall 
and  strong  man.  Sergeant  Billy  May  dew  carried  Lieutenant  Coffin 
across  thus. 

The  Sixty-fifth  kept  its  cartridges  dry,  held  its  muskets  high.  It 
had  crossed  into  Maryland  with  song  and  joke  and  laughter,  step 
ping  easily  through  water  to  the  mid- thigh,  clear  water,  sparkling 
in  the  sun.  It  returned  into  Virginia  through  a  high  and  stormy 
water,  beneath  a  midnight  sky.  The  sky  of  its  fortunes,  too,  was 
dark.  There  was  no  singing  to-night;  each  man,  breasting  the  flood, 
needed  all  his  wits  merely  to  cross.  The  red  light  beat  upon  the 
Sixty-fifth  going  down  from  the  Maryland  shore,  rank  after  rank, 
entering  the  water  in  a  column  of  three.  Rank  by  rank,  the  darkness 
swallowed  it  up,  officers  and  men,  colonel,  lieutenant-colonel,  cap 
tains,  lieutenants,  the  chaplain,  the  surgeons,  the  noncommissioned 
officers,  all  the  men,  Thunder  Run  men,  men  from  the  mountain 
ous  Upper  Valley  counties,  —  all  the  Sixty-fifth,  rank  by  rank 
dipped  out  of  the  light  into  the  darkness.  The  darkness  swallowed 
the  regiment,  then  the  darkness  gave  it  again  to  the  light  on  the 
Virginia  shore.  Up  to  the  gate  of  the  fortress,  through  the  red 
flare  of  torches,  came  the  Sixty-fifth.  A  man  with  a  great  rich,  deep 
voice,  broke  into  song  in  the  night-time,  in  the  wind  and  rain,  as  he 
came  up  beneath  the  sycamores.  He  sang  "Dixie,"  and  the  Sixty- 
fifth  sang  it  with  him. 

All  night,  endlessly  across  the  river,  out  of  light  into  darkness, 
then  into  light  again,  came  the  slowly  unwinding  ribbon  of  the  regi 
ments.  All  night  the  Second  Corps  was  crossing  by  the  ford  as  all 
night  the  First  was  crossing  by  the  unstable  bridge  of  boats.  In  the 


190  CEASE   FIRING 

grey  morning  there  crossed  A.  P.  Hill  and  the  Third.  The  last 
brigade  was  Lane's  North  Carolinians.  It  made  the  passage,  and 
then  Stuart  drew  his  thousands  steadily  to  the  waterside.  Meade's 
advance,  Kilpatrick  and  Buford,  saw  from  the  hill-tops  the  river 
dark  with  swimming  horsemen. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

BREAD   CAST   ON  WATER 

PRISON  X  had  a  catechism  which  it  taught  all  the  newly  arrived. 
Question.  Where  are  we  ? 
Answer.  In  the  North. 
Q.  Do  we  find  the  North  interesting  ? 
Ans.  We  do  not. 

Q.  Where  is  the  country  of  our  preference  ? 
Ans.  South  of  the  Potomac. 
Q.  Do  we  find  this  prison  pleasing  ? 
Ans.  We  do  not. 
Q.  Have  we  an  object  in  life  ? 
Ans.  We  have. 
Q.  What  is  it? 
Ans.  To  get  out. 
Q.  Again  ? 
Ans.  To  get  out. 
Q.  Again? 

Ans.  To  get  out  —  and  stay  out. 
Q.  Both  are  difficult  ? 
Ans.  Both  are  difficult. 
Q.  Have  all  apparent  ways  been  tried  ? 
Ans.  All  apparent  ways  have  been  tried. 

Q.  Uprisings,  tunnels,  sawing  window  bars,  bribing  guards,  tak 
ing  a  corpse's  place,  etc.,  have  all  been  tried  ? 
Ans.  They  have  all  been  tried. 
Q.  And  they  have  failed  ? 
Ans.  They  have  failed. 
Q.  What  is  to  be  done  ? 
Ans.  I  do  not  know. 
Q.  Have  you  an  object  in  life  ? 
Ans.  I  have  an  object  in  life. 
Q.  What  is  it? 


CEASE   FIRING 

Ans.  To  get  out  —  and  stay  out. 

Q.  To  get  South  ? 

Ans.  To  get  South. 

Maury  Stafford  was  not  a  newcomer,  but  the  substance  of  this 
catechism  was  graved  in  his  mind  and  daily  life  and  actions.  He  had 
passed  the  stage  of  violently  beating  against  the  bars,  and  had  passed 
the  stage  of  melancholia,  and  the  stage  of  listlessly  sitting  in  what 
fleck  of  sunshine  might  be  found  in  winter,  or  hand's  breadth  of 
shade  in  summer.  He  had  settled  into  the  steady  stage,  the  second 
wind.  He  knew  well  enough  that,  though  it  might  last  the  longest, 
this  stage,  too,  would  expire.  When  it  did,  it  might  not  come  again. 
He  had  seen  it  expire  in  others  and  it  had  not  come  again.  He  had 
seen  the  dead  moon  of  hope  that  followed,  the  mere  continuance  of 
breathing  in  a  life  of  shards  and  weeds.  He  had  seen  the  brain  grow 
sick  in  the  hands  of  the  will ;  he  had  seen  the  wrists  of  the  will  broken 
across.  ...  He  meant  to  make  the  steady  stage  last,  last,  last!  — 
outlast  his  last  day  in  Prison  X. 

The  August  day  was  hot  —  almost  the  hottest,  said  the  papers, 
on  record.  Prison  X  was  careful  now  not  to  have  too  many  prisoners 
at  once  in  the  prison  yard.  But  to-day  the  heat  seemed  to  breed 
humanity;  at  any  rate,  there  came  an  order  that  a  fair  number  of 
rebels  at  once  might  go  out  into  the  air.  In  the  officers'  yard  as  many 
as  fifty  were  permitted  to  gather  at  a  time.  The  small,  sunbaked,  sor 
did  place  looked  west.  At  this  hour  of  the  morning  it  was  in  the 
prison's  shadow,  and  cooler  than  it  would  be  later  in  the  day. 

Some  of  the  grey  prisoners  walked  up  and  down,  up  and  down; 
others  sat  alone,  or  in  twos  and  threes,  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall. 
There  was  talk,  but  not  loud  talking.  There  was  no  briskness  in  the 
yard,  no  crisp  bubbling  of  word  and  action.  Languor  reigned,  and 
all  the  desirable  lay  without  the  walls.  One  tree-top  showed  above 
them,  just  the  bushy  head  of  an  airy,  mocking  giant. 

At  ten,  the  yard  being  filled,  there  came  in  through  the  gate,  where 
were  double  guards,  three  or  four  officers  in  blue  and  a  Catholic  priest. 
The  yard  knew  the  inspecting  officers,  and  bestirred  itself  to  only  a 
perfunctory  recognition  —  perfunctory,  not  listless;  it  being  a  point 
of  honour  not  to  look  listless  or  broken  in  presence  of  the  opposing 
colour.  One  of  these  blue  officers  the  yard  liked  very  well,  a  bluff 
and  manly  fellow,  with  a  frown  for  the  very  many  things  he  could 


BREAD   CAST   ON   WATER  193 

not  alter  and  a  helping  hand  with  the  few  that  he  could.  The  grey 
made  a  subtle  difference  to  show  here  in  their  greeting. 

For  the  priest  —  they  had  never  seen  him  before ;  and  as  novelty 
in  prison  is  thrice  novelty,  the  various  groups  welcomed  with  an  in 
terested  gaze  the  stout-built,  rusty-black  figure  with  a  strong  face, 
rosy  and  likable.  "Holy  Virgin!"  said  the  priest.  "If  the  South  is 
any  warmer  than  this,  sure  ye  '11  be  af  ther  thanking  the  Saints  and  us 
for  bringing  you  North !  Are  there  any  sons  of  the  Church  in  sound 
of  my  voice  ?" 

There  was  one  —  a  lieutenant  in  the  last  stages  of  consumption. 
He  sat  in  the  sun  with  a  red  spot  in  each  cheek  and  eyes  bright  as  a 
bird's.  The  well-liked  blue  office*  brought  the  priest  to  this  boy. 
He  was  but  nineteen,  and  evidently  had  not  a  month  to  live.  "  Good 
morning,  Lieutenant ! "  said  the  officer.  "  Father  Tierney  's  a  cordial 
in  himself!  And  if,  being  a  Catholic,  you'd  like  — 

"Were  he  twenty  times  a  Ribil,"  said  Father  Tierney,  sotto  voce, 
"he's  a  sick  human  crathure  and  a  dying  man." 

"Then  I'll  leave  you  with  him  for  a  little,"  said  the  officer,  and 
walked  away. 

"Peace  go  with  you!  "said  Father  Tierney.  "My  poor  son,  if 
you've  done  any  harm  in  the  flesh,  the  Lord  having  taken  away 
the  flesh  will  take  away  that,  too.  —  You  are  not  one  of  those 
who  — "  Father  Tierney  spoke  for  thirty  seconds  in  a  lowered  voice. 

"No,"  said  the  lieutenant,  "I  used  to  try,  but  I  gave  it  up  when  I 
saw  that  I  was  going  to  get  out  anyhow.  But  a  lot  of  us  are  still 
trying —  There's  one  over  there  that's  trying,  I'm  certain.  He's 
been  awful  good  to  me.  If  he  could  —  if  you  could  now  — 

"The  man  standing  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall?  " 

The  man  standing  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall  was  only  a  stride  or 
two  away.  The  blue  officers  had  their  backs  turned;  the  grey  prison 
ers  were  listlessly  minding  their  own  business;  guards  and  sentries 
had  their  eyes  on  their  superiors.  The  sun  blazed  down,  the  green 
tree-top  just  nodded. 

"Good  morning,  my  son,"  said  Father  Tierney. 

"Good  morning,  Father." 

Father  Tierney  took  off  his  hat  and  with  it  fanned  his  rosy,  open 
face.  "Holy  Virgin!  'Tis  warmer  here  in  the  District  than  it  is 
in  Maryland  —  Maryland  being  my  home,  my  son." 


i94  CEASE   FIRING 

"Which  half  of  Maryland,  Father ?" 

"The  'Maryland,  my  Maryland'  half,  my  son." 

"That,"  said  Stafford,  "is  the  half  that  I  like  best.  It  is  the  near 
est  to  Virginia." 

"  What,"  said  Father  Tierney,  "if  ye  had  a  wishing-cap,  would  ye 
wish  for?" 

"Gold  and  a  blue  suit,  Father." 

"A  uniform,  ye  mane?" 

"No.  A  hospital  steward's  suit.  Blue  linen.  I've  got  it  worked 
out." 

"My  son,"  said  Father  Tierney,  in  a  brisk,  full  voice,  "ye've  a 
look  of  mortal  fever!  The  Saints  know  it  doesn't  become  us  to 
boast!  But  I  was  born  with  a  bit  of  a  medical  faculty  sticking 
sthraight  out  and  looking  grave.  —  Let  me  lay  my  finger  on  your 
pulse." 

Stafford's  palm  closed  upon  something  hard  and  round  and  yel 
low.  His  eyes  met  the  priest's  eyes. 

"It's  a  weary  number  of  soul  miles  ye '11  have  been  travelling,  my 
friend,"  thought  the  priest.  "There's  something  in  you  that's  been 
lightning  branded,  but  it's  putting  out  green  shoots  again." 

The  blue  officer  was  seen  approaching.  Father  Tierney  turned 
with  heartiness  to  meet  him.  "That  poor  lad  yonder,  Captain, 
he's  not  long  for  this  sinful  world!  If  you've  no  objection  I'd  like 
to  come  again  —  That 's  thrue !  That 's  thrue  enough !  '  Who  'd 
mercy  have  must  mercy  show.'  —  Captain,  darlint,  it's  hot  enough 
to  melt  rock!  Between  the  time  I  left  Ireland  and  came  to  America, 
and  that's  twinty  years  ago,  I  went  a  pilgrimage  to  Italy.  Hav 
ing  seen  Rome  I  wint  to  Venice.  There 's  a  big  palace  there  where 
the  Doges  lived,  and  up  under  the  palace  roof  with  just  a  bit  of 
lead  like  a  coffin  lid  between  you  and  the  core  of  the  blessed  sun  in 
heaven  —  there 's  the  prisons  they  call  piombi.  —  Now  you  usually 
think  of  cold  when  you  think  of  prisons,  but  I  gather  that  heat's 
more  maddening  — " 

Prison  X  was  as  capricious  as  any  other  despot.  The  next  day 
was  as  hot  a  day,  but  only  so  many  might  go  into  the  air  at  once. 
Many,  waiting  their  turn  in  the  black,  stifling  hall,  got  no  other 
gleam  than  that  afforded  by  the  grudged  opening  and  the  swift 
closing  of  the  outer  door.  The  next  day  again  the  heat  held  and  the 


BREAD   CAST   ON   WATER  195 

despot's  ill  humour  held.  At  long  intervals  the  door  opened,  but 
before  a  score  had  passed,  it  closed  with  a  grating  sound. 

The  fourth  morning  Stafford  found  himself  again  in  the  sun  and 
shadow  of  this  yard.  The  earth  was  harder-baked,  the  blue  sky 
more  fiercely  metallic,  the  bushy  head  of  the  one  tree  seen  over  the 
wall  more  decisively  mocking.  With  it  all  there  was  a  dizziness  in 
the  air.  He  knew  that  he  had  been  buoyed  by  the  second  wind.  As 
he  came  out  from  the  gloom  into  the  glare  a  doubt  wound  like  a 
snake  into  his  brain.  He  feared  the  wind  —  that  it  would  not  last  — 
it  was  so  very  sickening  out  here. 

He  took  the  shade  of  the  wall,  pressed  his  shoulder  against  the 
bricks  and  closed  his  eyes.  For  a  minute  or  more  the  spirit  sank, 
then  the  will  put  its  lips  to  some  deep  reservoir  and  drank. 
Stafford  opened  his  eyes  and  stood  from  the  wall.  Second  wind  or 
third  wind,  it  held  steady. 

The  consumptive  lieutenant  was  not  in  the  yard.  He  had  had  a 
hemorrhage  and  was  now  in  the  hospital  watching  Death  come  a 
stride  a  day.  The  yard  held  a  fair  number  of  men,  listless  in  the  heat, 
walking  slowly,  standing,  or  seated,  with  hands  about  the  knees  and 
bowed  heads,  on  the  parched,  untidy  ground.  The  guards  at  the 
small  gate,  a  gate  which  opened  on  another  yard,  not  free  to  prison 
ers,  with  beyond  it  the  true,  heavy  gate  —  the  guards  suffered  with 
the  heat,  held  their  rifles  languidly.  The  moments  went  on,  a  line  of 
winged  creatures  now  with  broken  wings,  creeping,  not  flying,  an 
ant-line  of  slow  moments,  each  with  its  burden  of  lassitude,  ennui, 
enfeebled  hope.  The  one  tree-top  was  all  green  and  gold  and  shin 
ing  fair  and  heavenly  cool,  but  it  was  set  in  Paradise,  and  from 
Paradise,  like  Abraham,  it  only  looked  across  the  gulf,  a  gulf  in 
which  it  acquiesced.  And  so  it  was  a  mocking  tree,  more  fiend  than 
angel.  .  .  . 

The  figures  of  the  sentries  at  the  gate  grew  energized;  they 
tautened,  stood  at  salute.  Into  the  yard  came  on  inspection  a  group 
of  officers,  among  them  the  one  whom  the  prisoners  held  to  be 
human.  With  them  came  Father  Tierney. 

"The  top  of  the  morning  to  ye,  children!"  said  Father  Tierney. 
"Sure  it's  a  red  cock  feather  the  morning's  wearing!"  He  came 
nearer.  "Where's  the  lieutenant  that  was  coughing  himself  away, 
poor  deluded  lad!" 


196  CEASE   FIRING 

He  looked  about  him,  then  came  over  to  the  wall,  a  big,  rusty- 
black  figure,  standing  so  close  that  he  made  another  wall  for  shadow. 
His  eyes  and  Stafford's  met. 

"The  lieutenant,  poor  lad!"  demanded  Father  Tierney,  his 
strong,  rich  voice  rolling  through  the  yard,  "it's  the  hospital  he's 
in?" 

"Yes,"  said  Stafford.  "He  had  a  bad  hemorrhage  and  they  took 
him  yesterday." 

"Tell  me,"  said  Father  Tierney,  "a  bit  about  him,  and  I'll  write 
it  to  his  parents.  Parents  —  especially  mothers  —  have  the  same 
kind  of  heartbreak  on  both  sides  of  the  line." 

The  officers  passed  on.  The  thirty-odd  grey  prisoners  walked  or 
sat  or  stood  as  before.  Stafford  was  a  little  in  shadow,  and  the 
priest's  bulky  form,  squared  before  him,  cut  off  the  more  crowded 
part  of  the  enclosure. 

Father  Tierney,  discoursing  of  parents,  dropped  his  voice  with 
suddenness.  "It's  the  smallest  possible  bundle.  You're  sure  you 
can  hide  it  under  your  coat  ?" 

"Yes—" 

"And  his  father 's  a  ribil  fighting  with  Johnston  —  and  his  mother 
in  Kentucky  —  Holy  Powers!"  said  Father  Tierney,  "the  heat  in 
this  place 's  fearful  and  I  once  had  sunsthroke  —  Quick  I  —  It 's  giddy 
enough  —  Have  you  got  it  ?  —  I  'm  feeling  this  minute ! "  He  straight 
ened  himself,  wandered  to  a  neighbouring  stone,  and,  sitting  down, 
called  to  the  nearest  guard  who  came  up.  "Is  there  a  cup  of  water 
handy,  my  son?  I  had  a  sunsthroke  once  and  this  yard 's  Gehenna 
to-day,  no  less!" 

Two  days  later,  just  at  sunset,  a  hospital  steward  passed  through 
the  hall  of  the  officers'  side  of  Prison  X,  nodded  to  the  sentries  at  the 
door,  crossed  the  yard,  was  let  pass  the  small  gate,  crossed  the  court 
beyond,  pretty  well  occupied  as  it  was  with  blue  soldiers,  and  ap 
proached  the  heavy,  final  gate.  An  official  of  some  description  was 
ahead  of  him,  and  he  had  for  a  moment  to  wait.  The  gate  opened, 
the  man  in  front  passed  through ;  there  came  a  moment's  vision  of  a 
green  tree  against  a  rosy  sky  —  the  tree  whose  head  showed  above 
the  prison  wall.  The  hospital  steward  stepped  forward.  He  had 
the  word  —  it  had  been  bought  with  a  gold-piece  of  considerable 
denomination.  He  gave  it;  the  gate  creaked  open,  he  passed  out. 


BREAD   CAST   ON   WATER  197 

The  sunset  looked  a  fabulous  glory;  the  one  tree  had  the  sublimity 
of  the  pathless  forest. 

At  dark  he  found  the  priest's  lodging  and,  waiting  for  him,  a  suit 
of  civilian  clothes.  He  proposed  to  get  to  the  river  that  night,  swim 
it,  and  find  dawn  and  the  Virginian  shore.  "Whist!"  said  Father 
Tierney.  "  You  '11  be  afther  attacking  a  fretful  porcupine !  Put  out 
your  hand,  and  you'll  touch  a  pathrol.  They're  thicker  on  the 
river  bank  than  blue  flies.  No,  no !  you  thravel  by  road  till  you  're 

twinty-five  miles  from  here.   You'll  come  to  a  hamlet  called  

and  there  you  '11  find  a  carpenter  shop  and  a  negro  named  Taylor. 
He 's  a  faithful  freedman  and  well  thought  of  by  the  powers  that  be. 
You  stop  and  ask  for  a  drink  of  water,  and  thin  you  say  in  a  whisper 
across  the  gourd,  'Benedict  Tierney  and  a  boat  across.'  You'll 
get  it.  —  It's  risky  by  the  road,  thrue  enough,  but  divil  a  bit  of 
risk  would  there  be  if  you  wint  shtraight  down  to  the  river!  The 
hedgehog  would  shoot  as  many  quills  at  you  as  was  necessary." 

"Whether  I  get  clear  away  or  not,  you  have  put  me  under  an 
obligation,  Father,  which  — 

"Whist,  my  son,  I'm  Southern,  I  tell  ye!  Drink  your  wine,  and 
God  be  good  to  the  whole  of  us!" 

The  night  was  still  and  starry,  dry  and  warm.  Stafford  walked  in 
company  yet  of  the  second  wind.  Bliss,  bliss,  bliss,  to  be  out  of 
Prison  X!  He  went  like  a  child,  wary  as  a  man,  but  like  a  child  in 
mere  whiteness  of  thought  and  sensuousness  of  being.  The  stars  — • 
he  looked  up  at  them  as  a  boy  might  look  his  first  night  out  of  doors. 
Bright  they  were  and  far  away,  and  the  flesh  crept  toward  them  with 
a  pleasure  in  the  movement  and  a  sadness  for  the  distance.  The 
slumberous  masses  of  the  trees,  the  dim  distinction  of  the  horizon,  the 
sound  of  hidden  water,  the  flicker  of  fireflies,  the  odour  of  the  fields, 
the  dust  of  the  glimmering  road  —  all  had  keenness,  sonority,  fresh 
ness  of  first  encounters.  For  a  long  time  he  was  not  conscious  of 
fatigue.  Even  when  he  knew  at  last  that  he  was  piteously  tired, 
night  and  the  world  kept  their  vividness. 

'•  Between  two  and  three  o'clock  some  slight  traffic  began  upon  the 
road.  A  farm-gate  opened  to  let  out  a  great  empty  wagon  and  a 
half-grown  boy  with  a  whip  over  his  shoulder.  The  horses  turned 
their  heads  westward.  Stafford,  rising  from  a  rock-pile,  asked  a 
lift,  and  the  boy  gave  it.  All  rattled  westward  over  the  macadam 


198  CEASE   FIRING 

road.  The  boy  talked  of  the  battle  of  last  month  —  the  great  battle 
in  Pennsylvania. 

"  Did  n't  we  give  them  hell  —  oh,  did  n't  we  give  them  hell  ?  They 
saw  we  killed  twenty  thousand!  " 

"  Twenty  thousand.  ...  It  is  not,  after  all,  strange  that  we  de 
duced  a  hell.  .  .  .  How  fresh  the  morning  smells !" 

Horses,  wagon,  and  boy  were  but  going  from  one  farm  to  another. 
Two  miles  farther  on  Stafford  thanked  the  youngster  and  left  this 
convoy.  Light  was  gathering  in  the  east.  He  was  now  met  or  over 
taken  and  passed  by  a  fair  number  of  conveyances.  In  some  there 
were  soldiers;  others  held  clusters  of  loudly  talking  or  laughing  men. 
A  company  of  troopers  passed,  giants  in  the  half-light.  He  concluded 
that  he  must  be  near  an  encampment,  and  as  he  walked  he  debated 
the  propriety  of  turning  from  the  road  and  making  his  way  through 
woods  or  behind  the  screen  of  hills.  Men  on  horseback,  in  passing, 
spoke  to  him.  At  last,  as  the  cocks  were  crowing,  he  did  turn  from 
the  road.  The  lane  in  which  he  found  himself  wound  narrowly 
between  dew-heavy  berry-bushes  and  an  arch  of  locust  trees. 
Branch  and  twig  and  leaf  of  these  made  a  wonderful  fretted  arch 
through  which  to  view  the  carnation  morning  sky.  Ripe  berries 
hung  upon  the  bushes.  Stafford  was  hungry  and  he  gathered  these 
and  ate.  A  bird  began  to  sing,  sweet,  sweet !  Holding  by  the  stem  of 
a  young  persimmon  he  planted  his  foot  in  the  moist  earth  of  the 
bank,  and  climbed  upward  to  where  the  berries  grew  thickest.  Briar 
and  elder  and  young  locust  closed  around  him.  Above  the  bird  sang 
piercingly,  and  behind  it  showed  the  purple  sky.  The  dewy  coolness 
was  divine.  His  head  was  swimming  a  little  with  fatigue  and  hunger, 
but  he  was  light-hearted,  with  a  curious,  untroubled  sense  of  identity 
with  the  purple  sky,  the  locust  tree,  the  singing  bird,  even  with  the 
spray  of  berries  his  hand  was  closing  on. 

The  bird  stopped  singing  and  flew  away.  A  horse  neighed,  the 
lane  filled  with  the  sound  of  feet.  Stafford  saw  between  the  bushes 
the  blue  moving  forms.  He  crouched  amid  the  dimness  of  elder 
and  blackberry,  not  knowing  if  he  were  well  hidden,  but  hoping  for 
the  best.  The  company,  pickets  relieved  and  moving  toward  an  en 
campment,  had  well-nigh  passed  when  one  keen-eyed  man  observed 
some  slight  movement,  some  overbending  of  the  wayside  growth. 
With  his  rifle  barrel  he  parted  the  green  curtain. 


BREAD   CAST   ON   WATER  199 

This  encampment  was  an  outstretched  finger  of  the  encampment 
of  a  great  force  preparing  to  cross  the  Potomac.  It  appeared,  too, 
that  there  had  been  recently  an  outcry  as  to  grey  spies.  Stafford 
proffered  his  story  —  a  Marylander  who  had  been  to  the  city  and  was 
quietly  proceeding  home.  He  had  turned  into  the  lane  thinking  it  a 
short  cut  —  the  berries  had  tempted  him,  being  hungry  —  he  had 
simply  stood  where  he  had  climbed,  waiting  until  he  could  plunge 
into  the  lane  again;  —  behold  the  whole  affair! 

He  might  have  won  through,  but  in  the  guardhouse  where  he  was 
searched  they  found  a  small,  worn  wallet  whose  contents  damned 
him.  Standing  among  the  berry-bushes,  his  hand  had  gone  to  this 
with  the  thought  that  he  had  best  throw  it  away  before  danger 
swooped  —  and  then  he  had  refrained,  and  immediately  it  was  too 
late.  The  sergeant  looked  it  through,  shook  his  head,  and  called  a 
lieutenant.  The  lieutenant  took  the  papers  in  a  bronzed  hand,  ran 
them  over,  and  read  a  letter  dated  two  years  back,  written  from 
Greenwood  in  Virginia  and  signed  Judith  Gary.  He  folded  it  and 
returned  it  to  the  wallet  which  he  kept. 

"Of  course  you  know,"  he  said  in  an  agreeable  voice,  "that  this 
is  your  death-warrant.  I  wonder  at  you  for  such  monumental  care 
lessness!  Or,  perhaps,  it  was  n't  carelessness." 

"No,"  said  Stafford,  "it  was  n't  carelessness.  But  I  am  not  a  spy. 
Yesterday  I  escaped  from  Prison  X." 

"Tell  that,"  said  the  lieutenant,  "to  the  marines.  Sergeant,  we 
move  before  noon,  and  jobs  of  this  sort  must  be  put  behind  us! 
There's  a  drumhead  court  sitting  now.  Bring  him  across." 

The  tree  was  an  oak  with  one  great  bough  stretching  like  a  warped 
beam  across  a  cart  track.  Stafford  divined  it  when  he  and  the  blue 
squad  were  yet  three  hundred  yards  away.  It  topped  a  slight  rise 
and  it  thrust  that  arm  out  so  starkly  against  the  sky.  He  knew  it 
for  what  it  was.  The  world  and  the  freshness  of  the  world  were  as 
vividly  with  him  as  during  any  hour  of  the  preceding  vivid  twelve. 
Every  sense  was  vigorously  functioning ;  the  whole  range  of  percep 
tion  was  lit;  length  and  breadth  and  depth,  he  felt  an  intimacy  of 
knowledge,  a  sure  interpenetration.  He  saw  wholly  every  little  dog 
wood  tree,  every  stalk  of  the  long  grass  by  the  roadside ;  the  cadence 
of  the  earth  was  his,  and  the  taste  of  existence  was  in  his  mouth.  He 
had  a  steady  sense  of  the  deep  that  was  flowing  into  the  mould  of 


200  CEASE   FIRING 

life  and  then  out  of  the  mould  of  life.  He  felt  eternal.  The  tree  and 
that  stark  limb  bred  in  him  no  fear. 

A  party  of  cavalry  came  up  behind  the  foot  soldiers. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  the  officer  at  the  head. 

"To  hang  a  spy,"  answered  the  lieutenant.  " On  the  tree  yonder." 

"Yes?"  said  the  officer.  "Not  the  pleasantest  of  work,  but  at 
times  necessary.  —  It's  a  lovely  morning." 

"Is  n't  it?  The  heat's  broken  at  last." 

The  troopers  continued  to  ride  alongside,  and  so  all  mounted  the 
little  rise  and  came  together  upon  the  round  of  dry  sward  beneath 
the'tree.  A  curt  order  or  two  left  the  blue  soldiers  drawn  up  at  one  side 
of  this  ring,  and  the  prisoner  with  the  provost  guard  in  the  centre, 
beneath  the  tree.  Stafford  glanced  down  at  the  rope  that  was  now 
about  his  neck.  It  lay  curled  there  like  a  tawny  serpent,  visible,  real, 
real  as  the  bough  up  to  which,  too,  he  glanced— real,  and  yet  pro 
foundly  of  no  tremendous  importance.  He  had  a  curious  fleeting 
impression  as  of  a  fourth  dimension,  as  of  the  bough  above  arching  a 
portal,  on  the  other  side  of  which  lay  utter  security.  Upon  the  way 
thither  he  had  been  perfectly  silent,  and  he  felt  no  inclination  now 
toward  speech  or  any  demonstration.  He  stood  and  waited,  and  he 
was  not  conscious  of  either  quickening  or  retarding  in  Time's  quiet 
footfall. 

The  cavalry  officer,  in  the  course  of  a  checkered  existence,  had 
witnessed  a  plenty  of  military  executions  —  so  many,  in  fact,  that 
Pity  and  Horror  had  long  since  shrugged  their  shoulders  and  gone  off 
to  sleep.  They  had  left  a  certain  professional  curiosity;  a  degree  of 
connoisseurship  in  how  men  met  death.  He  now  pushed  his  horse 
through  the  scrub  to  the  edge  of  the  ring.  The  action  brought  him 
within  twenty  feet  of  the  small  group  in  the  centre,  and,  upon  the 
blue  soldiers  standing  back  a  little,  face  to  face  with  the  bareheaded 
prisoner.  The  officer  looked,  then  swung  himself  from  the  saddle, 
and,  with  spurs  and  sabre  jingling,  strode  into  the  trodden  ground. 
"A  moment,  Lieutenant,  if  you  please!  I  have  somewhere  seen  your 
prisoner  —  though  where  — " 

H^  came  closer.  Stafford,  worn  to  emaciation,  dressed  in  rough 
civilfan  clothes,  with  the  rope  about  his  bared  neck,  returned  his 
gaze.  Memory  stepped  between  them  with  a  hand  to  each.  The  air 
darkened,  grew  filled  with  thunder,  jagged  lightning,  and  whistling 


BREAD   CAST   ON   WATER  201 

rain,  the  parched  earth  was  quagmire,  the  dusty  trees  Virginia 
cedars  with  twisted  roots,  wet,  murmuring  in  a  harsh  wind.  There 
was  heard  the  rattle  of  Stonewall  Jackson's  musketry,  and,  above 
the  thunder,  Pelham's  guns. 

"Ox  Hill!"  exclaimed  Marchmont  with  an  oath. 

Stafford's  eyelids  just  quivered.   "Ox  Hill,"  he  repeated. 

Suddenly,  with  the  thunder  of  Pelham's  guns,  the  bough  above  was 
no  longer  the  arch  of  a  portal.  It  was  an  oak  bough  with  the  end  of 
a  rope  thrown  across  it.  Life  streamed  back  upon  him.  The  clarity, 
the  silver  calm,  the  crystal  quality  went  from  things.  He  staggered 
slightly,  and  the  blood  drummed  in  his  ears. 

Marchmont  was  speaking  rapidly  to  the  lieutenant  and  the  pro 
vost  officer.  "How  do  you  know  that  he  is  a  spy?  Said  he  was  an 
escaped  prisoner  —  escaped  from  Prison  X?  Could  n't  you  wait  to 
find  out?  Believe  it?  Yes,  I  believe  it.  He 's  a  Southern  officer  — 
he  did  me  the  best  of  turns  once  —  day  when  I  thought  I  was  a 
prisoner  myself  —  day  of  Chantilly.  —  Yes.  Colonel  Francis  March 
mont.  Marchmont  Invincibles.  Remand  him,  eh?  —  until  we  tele 
graph  to  the  Commandant  at  X.  No  use  treating  him  as  a  spy  if 
he  is  n't  a  spy,  eh?  Remember  once  in  Italy  when  that  game  was 
nearly  played  on  myself.  —  You  will  wait,  Lieutenant,  until  I  send 
an  orderly  back  with  a  note  to  your  general  ?  Know  him  well  — 
think  I  can  arrange  matters.  —  Thanks!  Here,  Roberts!" 

Roberts  galloped  off.  The  group  beneath  the  tree,  the  soldiers 
drawn  up  at  one  side,  the  troopers  and  their  colonel  stayed  as 
they  were,  waiting.  The  bright  sands  ran  on,  the  breeze  in  the 
oak  whispered  like  a  dryad,  the  bees  buzzed,  there  came  an  odour 
of  the  pine.  Stafford's  hand  and  lip  were  yet  stained  with  the 
berries.  He  stood,  the  tawny  cirque  about  his  neck,  waiting  with 
the  rest. 

Roberts  returned.  He  bore  a  folded  piece  of  writing  which  he 
delivered  to  Marchmont.  The  latter  read,  then  showed  it  to  the 
lieutenant,  who  spoke  to  the  sergeant  of  the  provost  guard.  Two  not 
unkindly  hands  loosened  the  circle  of  rope  and  lifted  it  clear  from  the 
prisoner.  Marchmont  came  across  with  outstretched  hand. 

"Major  Stafford,  I  thought  I  could  manage  it!  As  soon  as  the 
matter  is  verified  from  X  —  I  shall  see  if  I  cannot  personally 
arrange  an  exchange.  .  I  am  pretty  sure  that  I  can  do  that,  too." 


202  CEASE   FIRING 

His  teeth  gleamed  beneath  his  yellow  mustache.  "I  haven't  at 
the  moment  a  flask  such  as  you  raised  me  from  the  dead  with !  — 
Jove !  the  fine  steel  rain  and  the  guns  with  the  thunder,  and  Caliph 
pressed  hard,  and  it  was  peine  forte  et  dure  — 

"It  was  a  travelled  road,"  said  Stafford;  "presently  some  one  else 
would  have  come  by  and  released  you.  But  this  is  not  a  travelled 
road  and  I  was  very  near  to  death."  He  looked  at  his  berry-stained 
hands.  "I  don't  think  I  cared  in  the  least  about  death  itself.  It 
seemed,  standing  here,  a  perfectly  unreal  pasteboard  arch,  a  piece  of 
stage  furniture.  But  I  have  a  piece  of  work  to  do  on  this  side  of  it 
.  .  .  and  so,  on  the  whole,  I  am  glad  you  came  by."  He  laughed  a 
little.  "That  has  a  mighty  ungracious  sound,  has  it  not  ?  I  should 
thank  you  more  heartily  —  and  I  do!" 

A  month  from  this  day  he  stood  upon  Virginia  earth,  duly  ex 
changed.  He  had  been  put  across  at  Williamsport.  Marchmont 
had  pressed  upon  him  a  loan  of  money  and  a  horse.  For  a  week 
he  had  been,  in  effect,  Marchmont's  guest.  A  strange  liking  had 
developed  between  the  two.  .  .  .  But  now  he  was  alone,  and  in 
Virginia,  —  Virginia  that  he  had  left  more  than  a  year  ago  when 
the  army  crossed  into  Maryland  and  there  followed  the  battle 
of  Sharpsburg.  He  was  alone,  riding  through  a  wood  slowly,  his 
hands  relaxed  upon  the  saddlebow,  lost  in  thought. 

About  him  was  the  silence  of  the  warm  September  wood.  It  was  a 
wood  of  small  pines,  scarred  and  torn,  as  were  now  all  the  woods  of 
this  land  by  the  heavy  hand  and  heel  of  a  giant  war.  That  was  a 
general  war,  but  to  each  man,  too,  his  own  war.  Stafford's  had  been 
a  long  war,  long  and  sultry,  stabbed  with  fierce  lightnings.  He  had 
scars  enough  within,  stains  of  a  rough  and  passionate  weather, 
marks  of  a  lava  flow.  But  to-day,  riding  through  the  September 
wood,  he  felt  that  the  war  was  over.  He  was  drawing  still  from  that 
deeper  stratum  of  being,  from  the  colder,  purer  well.  His  mind  had 
changed,  and  without  any  inner  heroics  he  was  prepared  to  act 
upon  that  change.  He  had  never  been  weak  of  will. 

In  Winchester,  when  he  entered  it  at  sunset,  he  found  a  small  grey 
command,  and  on  the  pillared  porch  of  the  hotel  and  in  the  bare 
general  room  various  officers  who  came  and  went  or  sat  at  the  table 
writing.  Stafford,  taking  his  place  also  at  this  long  and  heavy  board 
and  asking  for  pen  and  ink,  fell  into  talk,  while  he  waited,  with  an 


BREAD   CAST   ON   WATER  203 

infantry  captain  sitting  opposite.  Where  was  General  Lee  and  the 
main  army? 

"Along  the  Rapidan,  watching  Meade  on  the  other  side.  Where 
have  you  been,"  said  the  captain,  "that  you  did  n't  know  that  ?" 

"I  have  been  in  prison.  —  On  the  Rapidan." 

"  Yes.  But  Longstreet,  with  Hood  and  McLaws,  has  been  ordered 
to  Tennessee  to  support  Bragg.  There'll  be  a  great  battle  down 
there." 

"Then  there's  inactivity  at  the  moment  with  us?" 

"Yes.  Marse  Robert 's  just  resting  his  men  and  watching  Meade. 
Nobody  exactly  knows  what  the  next  move  will  be." 

A  negro  boy  brought  the  writing-materials  for  which  Stafford 
had  asked.  He  left  the  captain's  conversation  and  fell  to  wrriting. 
He  wrote  three  letters.  One  was  to  General  Lee,  whom  he  knew  per 
sonally,  one  to  the  general  commanding  his  own  brigade,  and  one  to 
WTarwick  Gary.  When  he  came  to  the  envelope  for  the  last-named 
letter  he  glanced  across  to  the  captain,  also  writing.  "The  Golden 
Brigade,  General  Gary  —  Warwick  Gary?  Do  you  know  if  it  is  with 
Longstreet  or  by  the  Rapidan  ?" 

"By  the  Rapidan,  I  think.  But  Warwick  Gary  was  killed  at 
Gettysburg." 

Stafford  drew  in  his  breath.  "I  had  not  heard  that!  I  am  sorry, 
sorry.  ...  I  begin  to  think  how  little  I  have  heard.  I  have  been  in 
Prison  X  since  Sharpsburg.  .  .  .  General  Gary  killed!" 

"  Yes.  At  the  head  of  his  men  in  a  great  charge.  But  the  brigade 
is  by  the  Rapidan." 

"It  was  not  the  brigade  I  was  thinking  of,"  said  the  other. 

He  sat  for  a  moment  with  his  hand  shading  his  eyes,  then  he 
slowly  tore  into  pieces  the  letter  to  Warwick  Gary.  The  remaining 
two  letters  he  saw  placed  in  the  mail-bag  for  army  headquarters. 
The  next  morning  early  he  rode  out  of  Winchester,  out  upon  the 
Valley  Pike.  Before  him  lay  Kernstown;  beyond  Kernstown 
stretched  beneath  the  September  mist  the  long,  great  war-road 
with  its  thronging  memories.  He  touched  his  horse  and  for  sev 
eral  days  travelled  southward  through  the  blackened  Valley  of 
Virginia. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THREE  OAKS 

THE  countryside  lay  warm  and  mellow  in  the  early  autumn 
air.  The  mountains  hung  like  clouds;  the  vales  cherished  the 
amber  light.  The  maple  leaves  were  turning;  out  on  the  edge 
of  climbing  fields  the  sumach  was  growing  scarlet,  the  gum  trees  red 
as  blood.  The  sunlight  was  as  fine  as  old  Canary.  Caw!  Caw  I  went 
the  crows,  wheeling  above  the  unplanted  fields. 

The  Three  Oaks'  carriage,  Tullius  driving,  climbed  the  heavy 
fields,  where,  nowadays,  the  roads  were  never  mended.  This  region, 
the  head  of  the  great  main  Valley,  was  a  high,  withdrawn  one.  From 
it  men  enough  had  gone  to  war,  but  as  yet  it  had  not  itself  become 
a  field  for  contending  armies.  No  cannon  here  had  roused  the 
echoes  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  no  smoke  of  musketry  drifted  through 
the  forest  glades.  News  of  the  war  came  by  boat  up  the  James, 
or  from  the  lower  towns,  —  Lexington,  Staunton,  Charlottesville,  — 
in  the  old,  red,  high-swung  stages,  or  brought  by  occasional  horse 
men,  in  saddle-bags  filled  with  newspapers.  The  outward  change  in 
the  countryside  was  to  be  laid  to  the  door,  not  of  violent  commis 
sion  but  of  omission  —  omission  less  spectacular,  but  no  less  assured 
of  results.  The  roads,  as  has  been  said,  were  untended,  fallen  into 
holes,  difficult  to  travel.  A  scrub  of  sassafras,  of  trailing  berry- 
vines,  of  mullein,  was  drawing  with  slender  fingers  many  a  field  back 
into  the  wild.  The  fences  were  broken,  gaps  here  and  gaps  there, 
trailed  over  by  reddening  vines.  When  the  road  passed  a  farmhouse 
the  fences  there  were  a  ghastly,  speckled,  greyish  white;  innocent 
of  whitewash  for  now  going  on  three  years.  The  horseblocks  showed 
the  same  neglect;  the  spring-houses,  too,  and  the  outbuildings  and 
negro  cabins.  The  frame  farmhouses  looked  as  dolefully.  The  brick 
houses  kept  more  an  air  of  old  times,  but  about  these  and  their 
gardens  there  dwelled,  too,  a  melancholy  shabbiness.  Everywhere 
was  a  strange  feeling  of  a  desert,  of  people  gone  away  or  sunken 
in  dreams,  of  stopped  clock-hands,  of  lowered  life,  of  life  holding 


THREE   OAKS  205 

itself  very  still,  yet  of  a  life  that  knew  heavy  and  painful  heart 
beats.  There  .were  not  many  cattle  in  the  fields;  you  rarely  saw 
a  strong,  mettled  horse;  those  left  were  old  and  work-worn  and 
thin.  There  seemed  not  so  many  of  anything;  the  barnyards  lacked 
feathered  people,  the  duck-ponds  did  not  flower  in  white  and  gold  as 
of  yore,  the  broods  of  turkeys  were  farther  between,  even  the  flower 
gardens  seemed  lessened  in  colour,  the  blooms  farther  apart.  At 
long  intervals  the  Three  Oaks'  carriage  met  or  overtook  slow  travel 
lers  on  the  road.  Chiefly  they  were  women.  In  the  same  way  the 
fields  and  gardens,  the  dooryards  and  doorsteps  of  the  houses  pre 
sented  to  view  women  and  children. 

Miriam  remarked  upon  this.  "Just  women  and  babies  and  old 
Father  Time.  I  have  n't  seen  a  young  man  to-day.  I  have  n't  seen  a 
boy  —  not  one  over  fifteen.  All  gone.  .  .  .  And  maybe  the  cannon 
balls  to-day  are  playing  among  them  as  they  played  with  Will." 

"Miriam,"  said  her  mother,  "be  as  strong  as  Will!  How  shall 
you  be  merry  with  him  when  you  do  meet  if  you  go  on  through  life 
like  this?" 

"I  don't  see  that  you  have  any  right  to  say  that  to  me,"  said 
Miriam.  "I  do  everything  just  the  same.  And  it  seems  to  me  that 
I  can  hear  myself  laughing  all  the  day.  Certainly  I  don't  cry.  I 
never  was  a  cry-baby." 

"I  had  rather  you  cried,"  answered  Margaret  Cleave. 

"Well,  I'm  not  going  to  cry.  .  .  .  Look  at  that  calf  in  the 
meadow  yonder  —  little  brown  thing  with  a  mark  on  the  forehead! 
Does  n't  it  look  lonely  —  usually  there  are  two  of  them  playing 
together.  Here  comes  an  old  man  with  a  bucket." 

It  was  an  old  negro  with  a  great  wooden  bucket  filled  with 
quinces.  He  put  up  a  beseeching  hand  and  Tullius  stopped  the 
horses.  "Dey's  moughty  fine  quinces,  mistis.  Don'  yo'  want  ter 
buy  'em  ?  Dey  dries  fust-rate." 

"They're  dry  already,"  said  Miriam.  "They're  withered  and 
small." 

"  Yass  'm.  Dar  ain'  anything  dishyer  war  ain't  shrivelled.  But  I 
sho  does  need  ter  sell  'em,  mistis." 

"I  can't  pay  much  for  them,"  said  Margaret.  "Money's  very 
scarce,  uncle.  It's  withered,  too." 

"Yass'm,  dats  so!   I  ain't  er-gwiner  ax  much,  mutis.    I  jesj 


206  CEASE   FIRING 

erbleeged  ter  sell  'em,  kase  de  cabin  's  bare.    Ef  ten  dollars  '11  suit 
you  —  " 

Mrs.  Cleave  drew  from  her  purse  two  Confederate  notes.  The 
seller  of  quinces  emptied  his  freight  into  the  bottom  of  the 
roomy  equipage.  He  went  on  down  the  road,  slow  swinging  his 
empty  bucket,  and  the  Three  Oaks'  carriage  mounted  the  last  long 
hill.  It  was  going  to  the  county-seat  to  do  some  shopping.  The  sun 
shine  lay  in  dead  gold,  upon  the  road  and  the  fields  on  either  hand. 
There  was  hardly  wind  enough  to  lift  the  down  from  the  open  milk 
weed  pods.  The  mountains  were  wrapped  in  haze. 

"War-shrunk  quinces!"  said  Miriam.  "Do  you  remember  the 
Thunder  Run  woman  with  blackberries  to  sell  a  month  ago  ?  She 
said  the  same  thing.  I  said  the  berries  were  small  and  she  said, 
'Yass,  ma'am.  The  war's  done  stunt  them.'" 

"I  wonder  where  the  army  is  to-day!  " 

"You're  thinking  of  Richard.  You're  always  thinking  of 
Richard." 

"Miriam,  do  you  not  think  of  Richard?  Do  you  not  love 
Richard  ?  " 

"Of  course  I  love  Richard.  But  you're  thinking  of  him  all  the 
time!  Will's  only  got  me  to  think  of  him." 

"Miriam!" 

Miriam  began  to  shudder.  Dry-eyed,  a  carnation  spot  in  each 
cheek,  she  sat  staring  at  the  dusty  roadside,  her  slight  figure  shaking. 
Her  mother  leaned  across  and  gathered  her  into  her  arms.  "O  child, 
child!  O  third  of  my  children!  The  one  dead,  and  another  perhaps 
dying  or  dead,  at  this  moment,  and  in  trouble,  with  a  hidden 
name  —  and  you,  my  littlest  one,  tearing  with  your  hands  at  your 
own  heart  and  at  mine!  And  the  country.  ...  All  our  men  and 
women,  the  warring  and  the  warred  upon.  .  .  .  And  the  world  that 
wheels  so  blindly  —  all,  all  upon  one's  heart!  It  is  a  deal  to  think 
on,  in  the  dead  of  night  — " 

"I  don't  mean  to  be  hard  and  wicked,"  said  Miriam.  "I  don't 
know  what  is  the  matter  with  me.  I  am  mad,  I  think.  I  remember 
that  night  after  the  Botetourt  Resolutions  you  said  that  war  was  a 
Cup  of  Trembling.  I  did  n't  believe  you  then.  — I  don't  believe 
we're  going  to  find  a  sheet  of  letter-paper  in  town,  or  shoes  or  flannel 
either." 


THREE  OAKS  207 

There  were  three  stores  in  town  and  the  Three  Oaks'  carriage 
stopped  before  each.  A  blast  had  passed  over  the  country  stores  as 
over  the  country  fields,  a  sweeping  away  of  what  was  needed  for  the 
armies  and  a  steady  depletion  of  what  was  left.  For  three  years  no 
new  stock  had  come  to  the  stores,  no  important-looking  boxes  and 
barrels  over  which  the  storekeeper  beamed,  hatchet  in  hand,  around 
which  gathered  the  expectant  small  fry.  All  the  gay  calicoes  were 
gone,  all  the  bright  harness  and  cutlery.  China  had  departed  from 
the  shelves,  and  all  linen  and  straw  bonnets  and  bright  wool.  The 
glass  showcases,  once  the  marvel  and  delight  of  childish  eyes,  were 
barren  of  ribbons  and  "  fancy  soap,"  of  cologne,  pictured  handker 
chief  boxes,  wonderful  buttons,  tortoise-shell  combs,  and  what-not. 
The  candies  were  all  gone  from  the  glass  jars,  the  "kisses"  and 
peppermint  stick.  There  were  no  loaves  of  sugar  in  their  blue  paper. 
There  was  little  of  anything,  very  little,  indeed,  —  and  the  mer 
chant  could  not  say  as  of  old,  "Just  out,  madam!  —  but  my  new 
stock  is  on  the  way." 

They  found  at  Jast  a  quire  or  two  of  dusty  foolscap,  paid  thirty 
dollars  for  it,  and  thought  the  price  reasonable.  Shoes  were  not 
to  be  discovered  —  "any  more  than  the  North  Pole ! "  said  the  small 
old  man  who  waited  upon  them.  "Yes,  Mrs.  Cleave;  it's  going  to 
be  an  awful  thing,  this  winter! "  They  bought  a  few  yards  of  flannel, 
and  paid  twenty  dollars  the  yard;  a  few  coarse  handkerchiefs,  and 
paid  three  dollars  apiece  for  them;  a  pound  of  tea,  and  paid  for  it 
twenty-five  dollars.  When  at  last  Tullius  tucked  their  purchases 
into  corners  of  the  carriage,  they  had  expended  five  hundred  dollars 
in  bright,  clean,  handsome  Confederate  notes. 

There  were  other  shoppers  in  a  small  way  in  the  stores,  and,  it 
being  a  fine  morning,  people  were  on  the  streets.  It  was  the  day  of 
the  month  that  was,  by  rights,  court-day.  The  court-house  was 
opened,  and  an  ancient  clerk  attended,  but  there  was  no  court.  Out 
of  habit,  the  few  men  left  in  town  gathered  in  the  court-house  yard 
or  upon  the  portico  between  the  pillars.  Out  of  habit,  too,  the  few 
men  left  in  the  countryside  were  in  town  to-day,  their  horses  fast 
ened  at  the  old  racks.  Moreover,  in  this,  as  in  other  counties,  there 
was  always  a  sprinkling  of  wounded  sons,  men  home  from  the  hospi 
tal,  waiting  for  strength  to  go  back  to  the  front;  now  and  then,  too, 
though  more  rarely,  an  officer  or  private  home  on  furlough.  The 


208  CEASE  FIRING 

little  town,  in  the  clutch  of  adversity  as  were  all  little  towns  through 
the  great  range  of  the  South,  was  not  in  the  main  a  dolorous  or  de 
jected  place.  The  fine,  clear,  September  air  this  morning  carried 
laughter.  And  everywhere  nowadays  there  bloomed  like  a  purple 
flower  a  sense  of  the  heroic.  The  stage  was  not  due  for  hours  yet, 
and  so  there  was  no  crowd  about  the  post-office  where  the  last  bulle 
tin,  read  and  re-read  and  read  again,  was  yet  posted  upon  a  board 
beside  the  door. 

The  ladies  from  Three  Oaks  exchanged  greetings  with  many  an 
old  friend  and  country  neighbour.  Margaret  Cleave  was  honoured 
by  all,  loved  by  many,  and  her  wistful,  dark,  flower-like  daughter 
had  her  friends  also.  Everybody  remembered  Will,  everybody  knew 
Richard.  It  used  to  be  "Have  you  heard  from  Captain  Cleave  ?" 

—  "Have  you  heard  from  Major  Cleave?"  —  "Have  you  heard 
from  Colonel  Cleave  ?  "  —  Now  it  was  different.  Most  people  here 
abouts  believed  in  Richard  Cleave,  but  they,  somewhat  mistakenly, 
did  not  speak  of  him  to  his  mother.   There  was  always  a  silence 
through  which  throbbed  a  query.  Margaret  Cleave,  quiet,  natural, 
unafraid,  and  unconstrained,  never  told  where  was  Richard,  never 
spoke  of  him  in  the  present,  but  equally  never  avoided  reference  to 
him  in  the  past.  It  was  understood  that,  wherever  he  was,  he  was  in 
health  and  "not  unhappy."  His  old  friends  and  neighbours  asked 
no  more.  In  the  general  anxiety,  the  largeness  of  all  reference,  too 
great  curiosity,  or  morbid  interest  in  whatever  strangeness  of  ill 
fortune  came  to  individual  folk,  had  little  place. 

The  two  moved  with  naturalness  among  their  fellows,  going  to 
and  fro  on  various  errands.  When  all  were  accomplished  they  went 
for  dinner  to  a  fair  pillared  house  of  old  friends  on  the  outskirts  of 
town.  Dinner  was  the  simplest  of  meals  and  all  were  women  who  sat 
at  table.  They  talked  of  the  last-received  letters,  the  latest  papers, 
the  news  of  recent  movements,  battles,  defeats,  victories,  hardships, 
triumphs,  —  AverelPs  raid  in  western  Virginia,  the  cavalry  fighting 
near  the  White  Sulphur,  the  night  attack  on  Fort  Sumter,  the  fight 
ing  in  Arkansas,  the  expected  great  battle  in  Tennessee.  The  one- 
course  dinner  over,  they  sat  for  an  hour  in  the  cool,  deep  parlour, 
where  they  took  up  baskets  and  fell  to  carding  lint  while  they  talked 

—  now  of  prices  and  makeshift,  how  to  contrive  shoes,  clothing, 
warmth,  food,  medicines,  what-not,  and  how  to  continue  to  send 


THREE  OAKS  209 

supplies  to  the  men  in  the  army.  Then,  while  they  carded  lint, 
Miriam  was  asked  to  read  aloud.  She  did  so,  taking  the  first  book 
that  offered  from  the  table.  It  was  "Lalla  Rookh,"  and  she  read 
from  it  with  a  curious,  ungirlish  brilliancy  and  finish.  When  she 
put  the  book  down  she  was  asked  if  she  would  not  sing. 

"Not  if  you  do  not  wish  to,"  said  her  mother. 

Miriam  got  up  at  once.   "I  do  wish  to." 

Her  mother,  following  her  to  the  piano  sat  down  and  laid  her 
fingers  on  the  keys. 

"Sing,"  said  some  one,  "'Love  launched  a  Fairy  Boat.'" 

"Love  launched  a  fairy  boat 
On  a  bright  and  shining  river, 
And  said,  '  My  bark  shall  float 
O'er  these  sunny  waves  forever. 
The  gentlest  gales  shall  fill  the  sails 
That  bear  me  onward  cheerily, 
And  through  Time's  glass  the  sand  shall  pass 
From  morn  till  evening  merrily, 
From  morn  till  evening  merrily  .  .  .' 
Love  launched  a  fairy  boat  — " 

Margaret  rose  quickly.  The  others  with  exclamations  gathered 
around  as  the  mother  laid  the  slight  figure  on  the  sofa. 

"She  is  frightfully  unwell,"  said  Margaret.  "Will  —  Richard  - 
the  strain  of  this  war  that  should  never  have  been!"  She  loosened 
the  girl's  dress  at  the  throat,  bathed  her  temples.  "There,  my  dear, 
there,  my  dear  — 

Miriam  sat  up.  "What  is  the  matter?  The  world  go  tall  black.  .  .  . 
Let  us  go  home,  mother." 

They  only  waited  for  the  stage  to  come  in.  From  the  carriage, 
drawn  up  near  the  post-office,  they  watched  it  rumble  up,  within  its 
depths  a  hurt  soldier  or  two  and  the  usual  party  of  ref  ugeeing  women 
and  children.  The  jaded  horses  stopped  before  the  post-office;  the 
driver  climbed  down  with  the  mail-bag,  all  the  town  came  hurrying. 
A  man  standing  on  a  box,  beneath  the  bulletin  board,  began  to  read 
in  a  loud  voice  from  an  unfolded  paper:  "Cavalry  encounters  along 
the  Rapidan  —  General  Lee  in  Richmond  conferring  with  the  Pre 
sident  —  Longstreet's  corps  taking  train  at  Louisa  Court-House. 
Destination  presumably  Tennessee.  —  Cumberland  Gap.  Tennessee. 
September  ninth.  To-day  General  Frazer,  surrounded  and  cut  of  by 
superior  force  of  enemy,  surrendered  with  two  thousand  men  — " 


210  CEASE   FIRING 

The  Three  Oaks'  carriage  went  heavily  homeward,  up  and  over 
the  long  hills.  A  light  from  the  west  was  on  the  Blue  Ridge,  the  sky 
clear,  the  winds  laid.  At  last  they  saw  the  home  hill,  and  the  three 
giant  oaks. 

For  a  long  time  Miriam  kept  awake,  lying  in  her  narrow  bed,  her 
head  on  her  mother's  breast,  but  at  last  her  eyes  closed.  Presently 
she  was  asleep,  breathing  quietly.  Margaret,  for  the  child's  more 
easy  lying,  slipped  her  arm  from  beneath  her,  then  waited  until, 
with  a  little  sigh,  she  settled  more  deeply  among  the  pillows,  then 
rose,  waited  another  moment,  and  stepped  lightly  from  the  room. 
The  hall  window  showed  a  sky  yet  red  from  the  sunset.  Across  was 
the  room  that  since  boyhood  had  been  Richard's.  The  mother 
entered  it,  closed  the  door,  and  moving  to  an  old,  leather-covered 
couch,  lay  upon  it  face  downward. 

Outside  the  dusk  closed  in ;  the  stars  peered  through  the  branches 
of  the  poplar  without  the  window.  Margaret  rose,  stood  for  a  mo 
ment  looking  at  the  sword  slung  above  the  mantel,  then  quit  the 
room,  and  going  downstairs,  ate  her  slender  supper  while  Mahalah 
discoursed  of  a  ghost  the  negroes  had  seen  the  night  before. 

It  had  been  a  frightful  ghost  —  "Er  ha'nt  ez  tall  ez  dat  ar  cedar 
ob  Lebanon,  an  er  part  grey  an'  er  part  white  an'  er  part  black! 
An'  it  had  n't  no  mo'  touch  to  hit  den  de  air  has,  an'  whar  de  eyes  was 
was  lak  two  candles  what  de  wind's  blowin',  and  it  kept  er-cryin' 
lak  somebody  in  de  mountains  —  wooh  !  —  wooh  !  —  wooh  /  — 
No,'m,  Miss  Margaret!  hit  wa'n't  'magination.  What  we  gwine 
'magine  for,  when  ever'body  could  see  hit  wif  their  own  two  eyes?" 

Mahalah  cleared  the  table,  closed  the  shutters,  and  carried  the 
lamp  into  the  wide  hall,  where  she  set  it  on  a  leaf-table  beside  her 
mistress's  workbasket.  Then,  still  muttering  of  the  "  ha'nt,"  she 
threw  her  apron  over  her  head,  and  departed  for  the  quarter.  Mar 
garet  mounted  the  stair  and  stood  listening  at  Miriam's  half-open 
door.  The  girl  was  sleeping  quietly,  and  the  mother,  turning,  came 
down  again  to  the  hall,  and  took  her  low  chair  beside  the  table  and 
the  basket  of  lint  she  was  carding.  The  night  was  mild  and  soft, 
the  front  door  standing  open,  the  scent  of  the  autumn  flowers  per 
ceptible. 

Margaret  Cleave,  sitting  carding  lint,  the  lamplight  upon  her 
brown  hair,  her  slender  hands,  the  grave  beauty  of  her  face,  —  Mar- 


THREE  OAKS  211 

garet  Cleave  thought  of  many  things.  In  the  midst  of  her  thinking 
she  heard  a  step  upon  the  gravel  before  the  house.  A  man  mounted 
the  porch  steps  and  came  into  the  light  from  the  open  door.  He  had 
raised  his  hand  to  the  knocker  when  he  saw  the  mistress  of  the  house 
sitting  in  the  lamplight  by  the  table. 

Margaret  rose  and  came  forward.  She  saw  that  it  was  a  soldier, 
an  officer. 

"  Good  evening,"  she  said;  then  as  she  came  closer,  —  "  One  mo 
ment!  .  .  .  Major  Stafford!" 

With  a  gesture  for  silence  she  took  up  the  lamp  and  led  the  way 
into  the  parlour.  "My  daughter  is  not  well  and  has  fallen  asleep. 
But  we  can  talk  here  without  disturbing  her." 

"I  came,"  said  Stafford,  "hoping  to  find  Colonel  Cleave.  I  have 
ridden  from  Lexington  to-day.  He  is  not  here  ?" 

"No." 

The  two  faced  each  other,  her  eyes  large,  enquiring,  quietly  host 
ile.  Stafford,  moving  with  steadiness  upon  that  changed  level,  met 
her  gaze  with  a  gaze  she  could  not  read.  She  turned  slightly,  sank 
into  a  great  chair,  and  motioned  him  to  one  opposite.  He  continued 
to  stand,  his  hand  touching  the  table.  There  was  a  bowl  of  roses  on 
the  table,  and  soft  lights  and  shadows  filled  the  room. 

"  Mrs.  Cleave,  will  you  tell  me  where  I  may  find  him  ?  " 

"No.  You  must  understand  that  I  cannot  do  that.  .  .  .  We  heard 
that  you  were  in  prison." 

"I  have  been  in  prison  since  Sharpsburg.  Latterly  I  found  a 
friend  and  four  days  ago  I  was  exchanged.  I  have  come  straight  to 
Three  Oaks." 

"Yes?  Why?" 

Stafford  walked  the  length  of  the  room  and  stood  a  moment  at  a 
window,  looking  out  into  the  night.  He  had  fought  his  fight;  it  was 
all  over  and  done  with.  Those  last  weeks  in  prison  he  had  known 
where  the  victory  would  fall,  and  that  first  night  out  his  mind  had 
parted  as  finally  as  was  possible  with  one  vast  country  of  his  past,  a 
dark  country  of  strain  and  longing,  fierce  attraction,  fierce  repulsion. 
On  the  starlit  road  from  Prison  X,  in  the  quietude  of  the  earth, 
victory  profound  and  ultimate  had  come,  soft  as  down.  Before  he 
gathered  the  berries  in  the  by-road,  before  the  soldiers  took  him, 
before  Marchmont  came,  he  had  touched  the  larger  country. 


212  CEASE  FIRING 

He  came  back  to  the  table  where  Margaret  sat,  a  rose  in  her 
hand,  her  eyes  upon  its  petals. 

"I  came  to  Three  Oaks,"  he  said,  "to  make  retribution." 

"Retribution!" 

Stafford  faced  her.  "Mrs.  Cleave,  what  do  you  know  —  what 
has  he  told  you  —  of  White  Oak  Swamp  ?  " 

Margaret  laid  the  rose  from  her  hand.  "I  know  that  somewhere 
there  was  treachery.  I  know  that  my  son  was  guiltless  of  that  charge. 
I  know  little  more  except  that  —  except  that,  either  you,  also, 
were  strangely  misled,  involved  in  that  dreadful  web  of  error  —  or 
that  —  or  that  you  swore  falsely." 

"I  swore  falsely." 

There  was  a  silence.  She  sat  looking  at  him  with  parted  lips.  He 
kept  the  quietness  with  which  from  his  entrance  he  had  moved  and 
spoken,  but  as  he  stood  there  there  grew  a  strange  feeling  in  his  face, 
and  suddenly  he  raised  his  hand  and  covered  his  eyes.  The  clock  in 
the  hall  ticked,  ticked.  Far  out  in  the  night  a  whip-poor-will  was 
calling.  The  walls  of  the  room  seemed  to  expand.  There  came  a 
sense  of  armies,  of  camp-fires  stretching  endlessly,  of  movements 
here  and  there  beneath  the  canopy  of  night,  of  a  bugle's  distant 
shrilling,  of  the  wheels  of  cannon,  of  a  dim,  high-borne  flag. 

At  last  it  grew  intolerable.  Margaret  broke  it  with  a  thrilling 
voice.  "And  you  come  here  to  tell  this  to  me?" 

"I  came,"  said  Stafford,  "to  tell  it  to  Richard  Cleave.  I  have 
written  it  to  General  Lee  and  my  brigade  commanders  —  and  to 
others.  By  now  it  is  in  their  hands." 

The  silence  fell  again,  while  the  mother's  heart  and  brain  dealt 
with  the  action  and  its  consequences.  At  last  she  put  her  hands 
before  her  face. 

"I  am  joyful,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  thrillingly  so,  "but  I 
am  sorrowful  too — "  and  her  voice  veiled  and  darkened.  "Un 
happy  man  that  you  are  — !" 

"If  you  will  believe  me,"  said  Stafford,  "I  am  not  unhappy.  It 
was  not,  I  think,  until  I  ceased  to  be  unhappy  that  I  could  see  clearly 
either  the  way  that  I  had  travelled  or  the  way  that  I  am  to  travel. 
I  will  not  speak  of  what  is  past,  nor  of  remorse  for  what  is  past.  I 
am  not  sure  that  what  I  feel  is  remorse.  I  have  seen  the  ocean  when, 
lashed  by  something  in  itself  or  out  of  itself,  it  wrecked  and  ruined, 


THREE  OAKS  213 

and  I  have  seen  the  ocean  when  it  carried  every  bark  in  safety.  It 
was  the  same  ocean,  and  what  is  the  use  of  words?  But  I  will  take 
now  the  blame  and  double  blame  of  White  Oak  Swamp.  I  wished 
to  say  this  to  him,  face  to  face  — " 

"He  took  another  name,  and  rejoined  before  Second  Manassas. 
He  joined  Pelham's  Battery,  of  the  horse  artillery.  He  called  himself 
Philip  Deaderick." 

"  Deaderick  t  The  rain  and  Pelham's  guns  .  .  .  I  remember." 

"  He  is  to-night  wherever  his  battery  is.  Somewhere  on  the  Rapi- 
dan.  He  would  not  let  —  what  happened  —  ruin  his  life.  He  went 
back  to  the  army  that  he  loved.  He  has  done  his  duty  there.  More 
over,  no  friend  that  knew  him  believed  him  guilty.  Moreover,  the 
woman  that  he  loves  has  kept  the  steadiest  faith  —  not  less  steady 
than  mine,  who  am  his  mother.  ...  I  will  tell  you  this  because  it 
should  be  told  you." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "it  should  be  told  me.  I  have  loved  Judith  Gary. 
But  I  want  her  happiness  now.  I  wrote  to  her  last  night.  I  could  n't 
do  it  before." 

The  clock  ticked,  ticked.  The  whip-poor-will  cried.  Whip-poor- 
will!  whip-poor-will!  Margaret  sat  very  still,  her  elbow  on  the 
table,  her  hand  shading  her  eyes. 

The  quiet  held  a  moment  longer  in  the  Three  Oaks'  parlour,  then 
he  broke  it.  "I  have  said  all,  I  think,  that  needed  to  be  said.  It 
does  not  seem  to  me  to  be  a  case  for  words.  You  understand  that 
the  machinery  has  been  set  in  motion,  and  that  the  weight  will  be 
lifted  and  laid  where  it  belongs.  I  shall  try  when  I  reach  the  army 
to  see  Colonel  Cleave.  You  will  understand  that  I  wish  to  do  that, 
and  why  I  wish  it.  Had  he  been  here  to-night  I  should  have  said  to 
him  little  more,  I  think,  than  I  have  said  to  you.  I  should  have  said 
that  the  old,  unneeded  hatred  had  died  from  within  me,  and  that  I 
asked  his  forgiveness." 

He  took  his  hat  from  the  chair  beside  him.  "  I  '11  ride  to  town 
and  sleep  there  to-night.  In  the  morning  I'll  turn  toward  the 
Rapidan  — " 

Margaret  rose.  "It  is  late.  You  have  been  riding  all  day.  You 
are  tired  and  thin  and  pale  —  you  have  been  in  prison."  Suddenly 
as  she  looked  at  him  the  tears  came.  "Oh,  the  world,  the  world  that 
it  is!  Oh,  the  divided  heart  of  it,  the  twisted  soul,  the  bitter  and  the 


CEASE  FIRING 

sweet  and  the  dark  and  the  light  — "  She  dashed  the  tears  away 
and  came  over  to  him  with  her  hand  held  out.  "See!  it  is  all  over 
now.  It  is  far  to  town,  and  late.  Stay  at  Three  Oaks  to-night.  — 
Tullius  shall  put  your  horse  up,  and  I  will  call  Mahalah  to  see  to 
your  room — " 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   COLONEL   OF   THE    SIXTY-FIFTH 

THROUGH  the  cool  October  sunlight  three  grey  regiments  and 
a  battery  of  horse  artillery  were  marching  upon  a  road  that 
led  from  the  Rapidan  to  the  Rappahannock.   They  were 
coming  up  from  Orange  Court-House  and  their  destination  was  the 
main  army  now  encamped  below  Kelly's  Ford. 

The  air  was  like  wine  and  the  troops  were  in  spirits.  There  were 
huge  jokes,  laughter,  singing,  and  when  at  noon  the  column  halted 
in  a  coloured  wood  for  dinner,  the  men  frisked  among  the  trees  like 
young  lambs  or  very  fauns  of  Pan.  They  were  ragged,  and  they 
did  n't  have  much  for  dinner,  but  gaiety  was  in  their  gift  and  a  quite 
superb  "make  the  best  of  it."  They  were  filled  with  quips  and 
cranks;  they  guffawed  with  laughter.  They  lay  upon  the  earth, 
hands  beneath  their  heads,  one  knee  crossed  above  the  other,  and 
sang  to  the  red  oak  leaves  on  the  topmost  branch. 

"I  dreamed  a  dream  the  other  night, 

When  everything  was  still;  — 
I  dreamed  I  saw  Susannah 

Come  running  down  the  hill.  .  .  . 

"  O  Susannah,  don't  you  weep, 

Nor  mourn  too  long  for  me  — 
I'se  gwine  to  Alabama, 

With  my  banjo  on  my  knee!" 

"Old  Grimes  is  dead,  that  good  old  man, 
Whom  we  shall  see  no  more  — " 

The  Sixty-fifth  Virginia's  spirits  flew  in  feathers.  The  Sixty-fifth 
was,  for  this  period  of  the  war  and  on  the  Southern  side,  a  full  regi 
ment.  It  carried  nearly  five  hundred  muskets.  It  was  practically 
half  as  large  as  it  had  been  on  the  day  of  First  Manassas.  It  had 
passed  through  three  years  of  deadly  war,  but  as  a  regiment  it 
possessed  skill  as  well  as  courage,  and  —  with  one  exception  —  it 
had  had  fair  luck.  And  then  it  had  gathered  recruits.  It  was  a  good 
regiment  to  belong  to  —  a  steady,  fine  regiment. 


2 1 6  CEASE  FIRING 

Officers'  mess  spread  its  table  on  the  golden,  fallen  leaves  of  a 
hickory  beside  a  sliding,  ice-cool  rivulet.  The  four  hundred  and  odd 
men  were  scattered,  in  perhaps  fifty  messes,  through  the  grove. 
The  smoke  of  their  fires  rose  straight  and  blue.  The  metal  of  the 
stacked  muskets  reflected  a  thousand  little  saffron  flames.  The  leaves 
drifted  down.  The  day  was  ineffably  sweet,  cool,  and  fragrant. 
Caw  !  caw  !  went  the  crows  in  a  neighbouring  field. 

The  Sixty-fifth  believed  in  friendship.  It  believed  in  cousins.  It 
believed  in  the  tie  of  the  County.  The  river,  winding  between  wil 
low  and  sycamore  from  croft  to  croft,  —  the  chain  of  little  valleys, 
the  end  of  one  touching  the  beginning  of  another,  —  the  linked  hills, 
each  with  its  homestead,  —  the  mountains  with  their  mountain 
cabins,  —  all  was  so  much  framework  in  and  over  and  about  which 
flowed  the  mutual  life.  In  its  consciousness  hill  called  to  hill  and. 
stream  to  stream  —  Thunder  Run  to  other  runs  and  creeks  —  other 
mountains  to  Thunder  Run  Mountain.  The  Sixty-fifth  experienced 
a  profound  unity  —  a  unity  bred  of  many  things.  Physical  contig 
uity  played  its  part,  a  common  range  of  ideas,  a  general  standard  of 
conduct,  a  shared  way  of  seeing,  hearing,  tasting.  Upon  all  was  the 
stamp  of  community  in  effort,  community  in  danger,  community  in 
event.  It  was  not  to  the  erection  of  separateness  that  brothers, 
cousins,  friends,  acquaintances,  even  in  a  minor  degree  enemies, 
shared  heat  and  cold,  the  burning  sun  or  the  midnight,  stumbling 
darkness  of  the  road,  storm  and  fatigue  and  waking  through  the 
night,  hunger,  thirst,  marchings  and  battles  and  the  sight  of  battle 
fields,  that  their  hearts  together  failed,  shrivelled,  darkened,  or 
expanded,  rose  and  shouted.  So  deeply  alike  now  was  their  environ 
ment  and  the  face  of  their  days  that  their  own  faces  were  grown 
strangely  alike.  Sometimes  the  members  of  the  Sixty-fifth  differed 
in  opinion,  sometimes  they  squabbled,  sometimes  they  waxed  sar 
castic,  sometimes  they  remarked  that  the  world  was  too  small  for 
such  or  such  a  comrade  and  themselves.  Then  came  the  battle  — 
and  when  in  the  morning  light  they  saw  such  or  such  an  one,  it  was 
"  Hello,  Jim  —  or  Jack  —  or  Tom !  I  'm  right  down  glad  you  were  n't 
killed!  Fuss  at  you  sometimes,  but  I'd  have  missed  you,  all  the 
same!" 

The  Sixty-fifth  sat  cross-legged  in  the  coloured  wood  near  Rappa- 
hannock,  and  ate  its  diminutive  corn-pone  and  diminutive  rasher  of 


THE  COLONEL  OF  THE  SIXTY-FIFTH    217 

bacon.  No  Confederate  soldier  ever  felt  drowsily  heavy  after  dinner. 
Where  there  was  so  little  to  digest,  the  process  accomplished  itself 
in  the  turn  of  a  hand.  There  was  little,  too,  to  smoke,  now  —  worse 
luck!  But  there  was  always  —  except  in  the  very  worst  straits  — 
there  was  always  something  out  of  which  might  be  gotten  a  certain 
whimsical  amusement. 

The  Sixty-fifth  had  had  an  easy  march,  and  was  going  to  have 
another  one.  The  Sixty-fifth  knew  this  country  like  a  book,  having 
fought  over  most  steps  of  it.  It  had  a  pleasant  feeling  of  familiarity 
with  this  very  wood  and  the  shining  stretch  of  road  narrowing  toward 
a  dark  wood  and  the  Rappahannock.  The  Sixty-fifth  had  every  con 
fidence  in  Marse  Robert,  commanding  all ;  in  Old  Dick,  command 
ing  the  Second  Corps,  in  Alleghany  Johnson,  commanding  the  divis 
ion;  in  Walker,  commanding  the  Stonewall;  in  Colonel  Erskine, 
commanding  the  Sixty-fifth.  Its  confidence  in  the  Sixty-fifth  itself 
was  considerable.  Dinner  done,  it  fell,  lying  beneath  the  trees,  now 
to  jokes  and  now  to  easy  speculation. 

"What  is  Marse  Robert  moving  us  for  ?" 

"Meade's  walking  again.  Stalking  up  and  down  north  side  of 
Rappahannock.  Same  as  Burnside  last  year.  Marse  Robert 's  bring 
ing  us  and  the th  and th,  over  from  Orange,  to  lay  the  ghost. 

—  Oh,  and  I  forgot  the  horse  artillery!  " 

"Horse  artillery's  all  right,  down  there  by  that  sumach  patch, 
eating  parched  corn.  .  .  .  This  is  what  you  might  call  golden 
weather.  Listen  to  the  crows.  Caw!  caw!  caw  I  Just  like  old 
Botetourt." 

"  If  I  were  Allan  Gold,  I  'd  let  that  shoe  alone.  He  can't  mend  it." 

"Whose  shoe  is  it?  Allan's?" 

"No.  It's  Lieutenant  Coffin's.  He's  had  a  pale  blue  letter,  and 
it  said  that  the  young  lady  was  visiting  in  Fredericksburg  —  and 
ain't  we  on  the  road  to  Fredericksburg  ?" 

"I  see  — I  see!" 

"  And  of  course  lieutenant  would  like  to  have  a  whole  shoe.  You  'd 
like  it  yourself  under  the  circumstances.  Allan's  mighty  handy, 
and  he  told  him  he  thought  he  could  do  it  — " 

"If  I  had  a  knife —  Allan!  Here's  a  scrap  of  good  leather. 
Catch!  —  Ain't  no  pale  blue  letter  in  mine.  Wish  there  was." 

Sergeant  Billy  Maydew,  at  the-  head  of  a  small  reconnoitring 


2i 8  CEASE   FIRING 

party,  appeared  and  reported  to  the  colonel.  "  We  went  to  the  river, 
sir,  and  two  miles  up  and  two  miles  down.  As  far  as  could  be  seen, 
things  air  all  quiet.  We  thought  we  saw  a  smoke  across  the  river  — 
back  agin'  the  sky.  We  met  a  foraging  party  —  cavalry.  It  said 
General  Lee  was  at  Kelly's  Ford,  and  that  it  was  understood  the 
enemy  meant  to  cross.  That  air  all  I  have  to  report,  sir." 

The  column  took  again  the  road.  Of  the  three  regiments,  the 
Sixty-fifth  came  last.  Behind  it  rumbled  a  small  wagon  train,  and 
in  rear  of  these  the  battery  from  the  horse  artillery.  The  battery 
was  an  acquisition  of  the  morning.  It  had  come  out  of  the  yellow 
and  red  woods  in  the  direction  of  Culpeper,  and  had  proceeded  to 
"keep  company."  The  Sixty-fifth  liked  the  artillery  very  well,  and 
now  it  fraternized  as  jovially  as  discipline  would  allow.  "  An  old 
battery  of  Pelham's  ?  Pelham  was  a  fighter!  Saw  him  at  Second 
Manassas  with  his  arm  up,  commanding!  Looked  like  one  of  those 
people  in  the  old  mythology  book.  —  Glad  to  see  you,  old  battery 
of  Pelham's!" 

The  afternoon  was  a  wonderful  clear  one  of  high  lights  and  blue 
shadows,  of  crisply  moving  air.  All  vision  was  distinct,  all  sound 
sonorous.  Even  touch  and  taste  and  smell  had  a  strange  vigour. 
And,  by  way  of  consequence,  all  faculties  were  energized.  Past  and 
present  and  future  came  all  together  in  the  hands,  in  one  wonderful 
spice  apple.  And  then,  just  as  life  was  most  worth  living,  the  col 
umn,  the  road  bending,  clashed  against  a  considerable  Federal  force, 
that,  crossing  the  Rappahannock  at  Beverly's  Ford,  had  come  down 
the  river  through  the  wonderful  afternoon. 

The  Sixty-fifth  fought  from  behind  a  brown  swale  of  earth  with 
a  rail  fence  atop.  The  rails  were  all  draped  with  travellers'  joy; 
together  they  made  a  flimsy  screen  through  which  sang  the  bullets. 
Zipp  I  zziipp  !  zzzip  !  went  the  minies,  thick  as  locusts  in  Egypt.  The 
two  other  regiments  ahead  were  fighting,  too;  the  wagons  were 
scattered,  the  horses  stampeded,  the  negro  teamsters  ashen  with 
panic.  The  battery  of  horse  artillery  drove  in  thunder  to  the  front, 
the  guns  leaping,  the  drivers  shouting,  the  horses  red-nostrilled, 
wide-eyed.  Down  sprang  the  gunners,  into  action  roared  the  pieces; 
there  was  a  bass  now  to  answer  the  minies'  snarling  treble.  But  the 
blue  had  guns,  too,  more  guns  than  the  grey.  They  came  pounding 
into  the  fight. 


THE   COLONEL  OF   THE   SIXTY-FIFTH    219 

The  Sixty-fifth  fought  with  desperation.  It  saw  Annihilation,  and 
it  strove  against  it  through  every  fibre.  The  men  fired  kneeling.  The 
flame  had  scarcely  leapt  ere  the  hand  felt  for  the  cartridge,  the  teeth 
tore  at  the  paper,  the  musket  flamed  again.  The  metal  scorched  all 
fingers;  powder  grime  and  sweat  marred  every  face.  The  men's  lips 
moved  rapidly,  uttering  a  low  monotone,  or,  after  biting  the  cart 
ridge,  they  closed  and  made  a  straight  line  in  each  powder-darkened 
countenance.  A  shell  tore  away  a  length  of  the  fence,  killing  or  maim 
ing  a  dozen.  Through  the  smoke  was  seen  the  foe,  gathering  for  a 
charge.  The  charge  came  and  was  repelled,  but  with  loss.  Two  cap 
tains  were  down,  a  lieutenant,  many  men.  A  gun,  back  on  a  hillside, 
was  splitting  the  fence  into  kindling  wood.  The  grey  battery  —  the 
old  battery  of  Pelham's  —  silenced  this  gun,  but  others  came.  They 
bellowed  from  three  different  points.  The  grey  battery  began  itself 
to  suffer.  Doggedly  it  poured  its  fire,  but  a  gun  was  disabled,  a 
caisson  exploded,  horses  and  men  dead  or  frightfully  hurt.  The  two 
forward  regiments  had  a  better  position  or  met  a  less  massed  and 
determined  attack.  They  had  come  upon  a  hornet's  nest,  truly,  but 
their  fire  at  least  kept  the  hornets  at  bay.  But  the  Sixty-fifth  was  in 
the  thick  of  it,  and  like  to  be  overpowered.  It  had  to  get  away  from 
where  it  was  in  the  cross-fire  of  the  batteries  —  that  was  clear.  Ers- 
kine  dragged  it  back  to  a  field  covered  with  golden  sedge.  Out  of 
the  sheet  of  gold  sprang  small  dark  pines,  and  above  the  roar  and 
the  smoke  was  the  transparent  evening  sky.  Panting,  devastated, 
powder-blackened,  bleeding,  the  Sixty-fifth  felt  for  its  cartridges, 
bit  them,  loaded,  fired  on  a  dark  blue  wedge  coming  out  of  a  wood. 
The  wedge  expanded,  formed  a  line,  came  on  with  hurrahs.  At  the 
same  instant  a  monster  cylindrical  shell,  whooping  like  a  demon, 
hurled  itself  against  the  grey  battery.  A  second  gun  was  put  out  of 
the  fight.  The  sky  went  in  flashes  of  red,  the  air  in  toppling  crashes 
as  of  buildings  in  earthquake.  When  the  smoke  cleared,  the  blue 
had  gone  back  again,  but  dead  or  dying  in  the  sedge  were  many  grey 
men.  Colonel  Erskine,  slight,  fiery,  stood  out,  his  hand  pressing  his 
arm  from  which  blood  was  streaming.  "  Sixty-fifth  Virginia !  You  've 
got  as  splendid  a  record  as  is  in  this  army!  You  can't  run.  There 
isn't  anywhere  to  run  to.  —  White  flag?  No  —  o!  You  don't  raise 
a  white  flag  while  I  command !  —  Put  your  back  to  the  wall  and 
continue  your  record!" 


220  CEASE  FIRING 

"All  right,  sir,"  said  the  Sixty-fifth.  "All  right—  Oh,  the 
colonel!  —  oh,  the  colonel  — " 

The  colonel  fell,  pierced  through  the  brain.  A  captain  took  his 
place,  but  the  captains,  too,  were  falling.  .  .  . 

Billy  Maydew  and  Allan  Gold  saw  each  other  through  a  rift  in  the 
smoke.  They  were  close  together. 

"Billy,"  said  Allan,  "I  wish  you  were  out  of  this." 

"I  reckon  it's  the  end,"  said  Billy,  loading.  "You  look  all  kind 
of  shining  and  bright,  Allan.  —  Don't  you  reckon  Heaven '11  be 
something  like  Thunder  Run  ?" 

"Yes,  I  do.  Sairy  and  Tom,  and  the  flowers  and  Christianna  — " 

"And  all  the  boys,"  said  Billy,  "and  the  colonel  —  Here  air  the 
darn  Yanks  again  — " 

A  short-range  engagement  changed  into  hand-to-hand  fighting. 
Already  the  aiding  battery  had  suffered  horribly.  Now  with  a  shout 
the  blue  pushed  against  it,  seizing  and  silencing  one  of  the  two  re 
maining  guns.  The  grey  infantry  thrust  back  by  the  same  onset,  the 
grey  artillerymen  beaten  from  the  guns,  were  now  as  one  —  four 
hundred  grey  men,  perhaps,  in  a  death  clutch  with  twice  their  num 
ber.  Down  the  road  broke  out  a  wilder  noise  of  fighting  —  it  would 
seem,  somehow,  that  there  was  an  access  of  forces.  .  .  .  The  blue, 
immediate  swarm  was  somehow  pushed  back.  Another  was  seen 
detaching  itself.  The  ranking  officer  was  now  a  captain.  He 
hurried  along  the  front  of  the  torn  and  panting  line.  "Don't  let's 
fail,  men!  —  Don't  let's  fail!  Everybody  at  home  —  everybody  at 
home  knows  we  could  n't  —  Give  them  as  good  as  we  take!  Here 
they  come !  —  Now  —  now !  —  " 

There  was,  however,  a  wavering.  The  thing  was  hopeless  and  the 
Sixty-fifth  was  deadly  tired.  With  the  fall  of  Erskine  the  trumpets 
had  ceased  to  call.  The  Sixty-fifth  looked  at  the  loud  and  wide  ap 
proach  of  the  enemy,  and  then  it  looked  sideways.  Its  lips  worked, 
its  eyelids  twitched.  The  field  of  sedge  expanded  to  a  limitless  plain, 
heaped  all  with  the  dead  and  dying.  The  air  no  longer  went  in  waves 
of  red;  the  air  was  sinking  to  a  greenish  pallor,  with  a  sickness  trem 
bling  through  it.  Here  was  the  swarm  of  the  enemy.  .  .  .  The 
Sixty-fifth  knew  in  its  heart  that  there  was  some  uncertainty  as  to 
whether  it  would  continue  to  stand.  The  day  was  dead  somehow, 
the  heart  beating  slow  and  hard.  .  .  . 


THE  COLONEL  OF   THE   SIXTY-FIFTH    221 

The  blue  overpassed  the  ruined,  almost  obliterated  line  of  the  rail 
fence,  came  on  over  the  sedge.  "Don't  let's  fail,  men!"  cried  the 
captain.  "Don't  let's  fail!  We've  never  done  it  —  Stand  your 
ground!"  —  A  minie  ball  entered  his  side.  A  man  caught  him, 
eased  him  down  upon  the  earth.  "  Stand  it  out,  men !  stand  it  out ! " 
he  gasped. 

"  Sixty-fifth  Virginia  /  Front!  Fix  bayonets  I  Forward!  Charge!" 

The  Sixty-fifth  Virginia  obeyed.  It  wheeled,  it  fixed  bayonets,  it 
charged.  It  charged  with  a  shout.  As  by  magic,  even  to  itself,  its 
aspect  changed.  It  was  as  though  a  full  regiment,  determined, 
clothed  in  the  habit  of  victory,  vowed  to  and  protected  by  War 
himself,  sprang  across  the  sedge,  struck  against,  broke  and  drove 
the  blue.  All  the  pallor  went  out  of  the  atmosphere,  all  the  faint- 
ness  out  of  life.  Every  hue  came  strong,  every  line  came  clear,  life 
was  buoyant  as  a  rubber  ball. 

And  now  at  last,  as  the  blue  fell  back,  as  there  came  a  shouting 
from  down  the  road,  as  a  mounted  aide  appeared,  —  "Hold  your 
own!  Hold  your  own!  Stuart's  coming  —  horse  and  guns!  Hold 
your  own!"  —  as  the  smoke  cleared,  in  the  shaft  of  light  that  the 
westering  sun  sent  across  the  field,  the  Sixty-fifth  recognized  why 
it  had  charged.  In  its  ranks  were  men  who  had  come  in  during 
the  past  year  as  recruits,  or  who  had  been  transferred  from  other 
regiments.  To  these  the  Sixty-fifth  apparently  had  charged, 
changing  rout  into  victory,  because  a  gunner  from  the  disabled 
battery  —  the  old  battery  of  Pelham's  —  had  sprung  forward, 
faced  for  an  instant  the  Sixty-fifth,  then  with  a  waved  arm  and 
a  great  magnetic  voice  had  ordered  the  charge  and  led  it.  But 
most  of  the  men  of  the  Sixty-fifth  were  men  of  the  old  Sixty-fifth. 
Now,  in  the  face  of  another  and  violent  rush  of  the  foe,  the  Sixty- 
fifth  burst  into  a  shout.  "Richard  Cleave!"  it  shouted;  "Richard 
Cleave!" 

Twenty-four  hours  later,  a  great  red  sun  going  down  behind  the 
pines,  Cleave  found  himself  summoned  to  the  tent  of  the  Commander 
of  the  Army.  He  went,  still  in  the  guise  of  Philip  Deaderick.  Lee 
sat  at  a  table.  Standing  behind  him  were  several  officers,  among 
them  Fauquier  Gary,  now  General  Gary.  Beyond  these  was  another 
shadowy  group. 


222  CEASE  FIRING 

Lee  acknowledged  the  gunner's  salute.  "  You  have  been  known  as 
Philip  Deaderick,  gunner  in 's  battery  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"But  you  are  Richard  Cleave,  colonel  of  the  Sixty-fifth  ?" 

"I  am  Richard  Cleave,  sir.  I  was  colonel  of  the  Sixty-fifth." 

Lee  moved  his  head.  The  tent  was  filled  with  shadows.  A  negro 
servant,  bringing  a  lamp,  set  it  on  the  table.  In  at  the  tent  flap  came 
the  multitudinous  hushed  sound  of  the  gathering  night.  "Major 
Stafford!"  said  Lee. 

Stafford  came  out  of  the  dusk  and  stood  before  the  table.  There 
were  five  feet  of  earth  between  him  and  Cleave.  The  latter  drew  a 
quickened  breath  and  held  high  his  head. 

"When,"  asked  Lee,  watching  him,  "when  did  you  last  see  the 
officer  whom  I  have  just  called  ?" 

"Sir,  I  saw  him  at  Chantilly,  in  the  dusk  and  the  rain — " 

"You  knew  that  he  was  taken  at  Sharpsburg  ?" 

"Yes." 

"He  has  been  in  prison  ever  since  —  until  the  other  day  when  he 
broke  prison.  He  has  been,  I  think,  in  another  and  worse  prison  — 
the  prison  of  untruth.  Now  he  breaks  that  prison,  too.  —  Major 
Stafford,  you  will  repeat  to  Colonel  Cleave  what  you  have  written 
in  these  letters"  —  he  touched  them  where  they  lay  upon  the  table 
—  "and  what  you  have  to-day  told  to  me." 

Stafford's  controlled,  slow  speech  ceased  its  vibration  in  the  tent. 
It  had  lasted  several  minutes,  and  it  had  been  addressed  to  a  man 
who,  after  the  first  few  words,  stood  with  lowered  eyes.  It  was  a 
detailed  explanation  of  what  had  occurred  at  White  Oak  Swamp  in 
'62,  and  it  was  given  with  a  certain  determined  calm,  with  literal- 
ness,  and  with  an  absence  of  any  beating  of  the  breast.  When  it  was 
ended  there  was  a  defined  pause,  then  through  the  tent,  from  the 
great  general  at  the  table  to  the  aide  standing  by  the  door,  there  ran 
a  sound  like  a  sigh.  The  man  most  deeply  concerned  stood  straight 
and  quiet.  He  stood  as  though  lost  in  a  brown  study,  like  one  who 
has  attention  only  for  the  inward  procession  of  events. 

Lee  spoke.  "As  quickly  as  possible  there  shall  be  a  public  reversal 
of  the  first  decision."  He  paused,  then  rested  his  grave  eyes  upon 
Stafford.  "As  for  you,"  he  said,  "you  will  consider  yourself  under 
arrest,  pending  the  judgment  of  the  court  which  I  shall  appoint 


THE   COLONEL   OF   THE   SIXTY-FIFTH    223 

You  have  done  a  great  wrong.  It  is  well  that  at  last,  with  your  own 
eyes,  you  see  it  for  what  it  is."  He  withdrew  his  gaze,  rose,  and 
going  over  to  Cleave,  took  his  hand.  "  You  have  gone  through  bitter 
waters,"  he  said.  "Well,  it  is  over!  and  we  welcome  back  among  us 
a  brave  man  and  a  gallant  gentleman!  Forget  the  past  in  thought 
for  the  future!  The  Sixty-fifth  Virginia  is  yours  again,  Colonel 
Cleave.  Indeed,  I  think  that  after  yesterday  we  could  not  get  it  to 
belong  to  any  one  else!" 

"Colonel  Erskine,  sir,  — " 

From  the  shadow  hard-by  came  Fauquier  Gary's  moved  voice. 
"Erskine  would  have  rejoiced  with  the  rest  of  us,  Richard.  He 
never  believed — " 

"Come,  General  Gary,"  said  Lee,  "and  you,  too,  gentlemen,— 
come  and  give  your  hands  to  Colonel  Cleave.  Then  we  will  say  good 
night." 

The  little  ceremony  was  over,  the  kindly  words  were  spoken.  One 
by  one  the  officers  saluted  and  left  the  tent,  Fauquier  Gary  tarrying 
in  obedience  to  a  sign  from  Lee.  When  all  were  gone,  the  General 
spoke  to  Cleave  whom  he  had  been  watching.  "You  would  like  a 
word  alone  with  —  '  His  eyes  indicated  Stafford. 

"Yes,  General,  if  I  may  - 

"I  am  going  across  for  a  moment  to  General  Stuart's.  I  will  leave 
you  here  until  I  return." 

He  moved  toward  the  tent  opening.  "Richard,"  said  Gary, — • 
"Richard,  I  have  no  words  —  '  He  dropped  his  kinsman's  hands; 
then,  in  following  Lee,  passed  within  a  few  feet  of  Stafford.  He  made 
a  gesture  of  indignation  and  grief,  then  went  by  with  closed  lips 
and  eyelids  that  drooped.  Stafford  felt  the  scorn  like  a  breath  from 
hot  iron. 

The  tent  was  empty  now  save  for  the  two.  "We  cannot  stop 
here,"  said  Cleave.  "I  must  go  farther.  Why  have  you  changed  ? 
Or  are  we  still  wearing  masks  ?" 

"If  there  is  any  mask  I  do  not  know  it,"  said  the  other.  "  What  is 
change,  and  why  do  we  change?  We  have  not  found  that  out.  But 
there  is  a  fact  somewhere,  and  I  have  —  changed.  I  will  answer 
what  you  will  not  ask.  I  love  her,  yes!  —  love  her  so  well  now  that 
I  would  have  her  happy.  I  have  written  to  her,  and  in  my  letter  I 
said  farewell.  She  will  show  it  to  you  if  you  wish." 


224  CEASE  FIRING 

"I  do  not  wish—" 

"No,"  said  Stafford.  " I  believe  that  you  do  not.  Richard  Cleave, 
I  have  not  somehow  much  feeling  left  in  me,  but  .  .  .  You  remem 
ber  the  evening  of  Chantilly,  when  I  came  to  Pelham's  guns?  In  the 
darkness  I  felt  you  threatening  me." 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  did  all  that  you  knew  of  me,  and  I  was  all,  I  suppose, 
that  you  thought  me.  .  .  .  There  is  never  any  real  replacement, 
any  real  atonement.  To  my  mind  there  is  something  childish  in  all 
our  glib  asking  for  forgiveness.  I  do  not  know  that  I  ask  you  for 
your  forgiveness.  I  wish  you  to  know,  however,  that  the  old  inex 
cusable  hatred  is  dead  in  my  soul.  If  ever  the  time  arrives  when 
you  shall  say  to  yourself  'I  forgive  him'  — " 

"I  could  say  it  for  myself.  I  could  not  say  it  —  not  yet  — for  the 
regiment" 

Stafford  flung  out  his  hand.  "I,  no  more  than  you,  foresaw  that 
ambush  beyond  the  swamp !  I  meant  to  procure  what  should  seem 
your  disobedience  to  General  Jackson's  orders.  I  saw  nothing  else, 
thought  of  nothing  else  — " 

"If  you  had  seen  it— " 

The  silence  held  a  moment;  then  said  the  other  painfully,  "Yes. 
You  are  perhaps  right.  In  what  a  gulf  and  hollow  man's  being  is 
rooted!  ...  I  will  not  ask  again  for  what  I  see  would  be  difficult 
for  any  man  to  give  —  Here  is  General  Lee." 

Cleave  slept  that  night  in  the  tent  of  Fauquier  Gary.  When,  in 
the  dusk  of  the  morning,  reveille  sounding  clearly  through  the 
woods  by  Rappahannock,  he  rose,  and  presently  came  out  into  the 
autumn  world,  an  orderly  met  him.  "There's  a  negro  and  a  horse 
here,  sir,  asking  for  you.  He  says  he  comes  from  your  county." 

From  under  the  misty  trees,  out  upon  the  misty  road  before  the 
tent,  came  Tullius  and  Dundee.  "  Yaas,  Marse  Dick,"  said  Tullius. 
"Miss  Margaret,  she  done  sont  us.  She  say  she  know  all  erbout  hit, 
en'  that  Three  Oaks  is  er  happy  placet" 


CHAPTER  XX 

CHICKAMAUGA 

IT  is  said  to  be  easy  to  defend  a  mountainous  country,"  said 
General  Braxton  Bragg,  commanding  the  Army  of  Tennessee, 
"but  mountains  hide  your  foe  from  you,  while  they  are  full  of 
gaps  through  which  he  can  pounce  upon  you  at  any  time.  A  moun 
tain  is  like  the  wall  of  a  house  full  of  rat-holes.  Who  can  tell  what 
lies  hidden  behind  that  wall  ?',' 

The  wall  was  the  Cumberland  Range.  The  several  general  officers, 
riding  with  General  Bragg,  uttered  a  murmur,  whether  of  agreement 
or  disagreement  was  not  apparent. 

General  D.  H.  Hill,  lately  sent  from  Virginia  to  the  support  of 
"the  forces  in  Tennessee,  made  a  sound  too  gruff  for  agreement.  He 
fell  back  a  pace  or  two  and  drew  up  beside  General  Cleburne.  "  You 
can  know  mountainous  country,  you  know,"  he  said.  "  It 's  a  matter 
of  learning,  like  everything  else." 

"True  enough,"  agreed  the  other.  "But  there's  precious  few  of 
mankind  with  any  talent  for  learning!" 

The  group  sitting  their  horses  in  the  scrub  oak,  in  the  September 
sunshine,  gazed  in  a  momentary  silence  upon  Pigeon  Mountain  and 
Missionary  Ridge  and  the  towering  Lookout  Mountain.  Bragg, 
brave,  able  in  his  own  way,  but  melancholy,  depressed,  ill  in  body 
and  mind,  at  war  with  himself  and  all  his  subordinates,  sat  staring. 
Below  him  lay  the  slender  valley  of  the  Chickamauga.  Clear,  sinu 
ous,  the  little  stream  ran  between  overbending  shrubs  and  trees. 
A  vague  purple  mist  hung  over  the  valley  and  the  tree-clad  slopes 
beyond.  The  knot  of  horsemen  fell  silent,  there  in  the  oak  scrub, 
looking  at  the  folds  of  the  Cumberland  Range.  Past  them  on  the 
Lafayette  road  marched  endlessly  the  Army  of  Tennessee.  Tanned 
and  gaunt,  ragged  and  cheerful,  moving  out  from  Chattanooga,  but 
moving  out,  there  was  assurance,  to  give  fight,  by  went  the  grey, 
patient,  hardy  legions,  corps  of  Hill,  Polk,  Buckner,  and  Walker, 
divisions  of  Cheatham,  Cleburne,  Breckinridge,  Liddell,  Hindman, 


226  CEASE  FIRING 

Bushrod  Johnson,  Preston,  and  Stewart.  Colours,  mounted  officers, 
grey  foot  soldiers  and  grey  foot  soldiers  and  grey  foot  soldiers,  the 
rumbling  guns,  old,  courageous  battalions,  on  they  went,  endlessly. 
The  dust  rose  and  clothed  them;  the  purple  mountains  made  a 
dreamy  background.  The  party,  sitting  their  horses  on  the  scrub- 
covered  low  hill,  looked  again  westward. 

Bragg  spoke  to  one  of  his  corps  commanders,  Leonidas  Polk, 
bishop  and  general.  "Chickamauga!  This  was  Cherokee  country, 
was  n't  it?" 

"Yes,  General.  Cherokee  Georgia.  Chief  Ross  had  his  house 
near  here.  '  Chickamauga '  means  River  of  Death.  For  ages  they 
must  have  gone  up  and  down,  over  these  ridges  and  through  these 
vales,  hunting  and  warring,  camping  and  breaking  camp  — 

" Killing  and  being  killed.  We've  only  changed  the  colour,  not 
the  actuality.  McLemore's  Cove !  The  scouts  think  that  Rosecrans 
is  going  to  push  a  column  across  Missionary  Ridge  and  occupy 
McLemore's  Cove.  I  think  they  are  mistaken.  They  are  often  mis 
taken." 

" General  Forrest—  " 

"He  is  near  Ringgold,  I  suppose.  General  Forrest  does  not  keep 
me  properly  informed  as  to  where  he  is  — " 

Cleburne  came  in  with  his  rich  Irish  voice.  "Well,  that  would 
make  quite  a  shower  of  notes,  would  n't  it,  sir  ?" 

"I  have  never  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  General  Forrest,"  said 
D.  H.  Hill.  "He  must  be  a  remarkable  man." 

"He  is  a  military  genius  of  the  first  order,"  said  Cleburne. 

Bragg  continued  to  gaze  upon  the  Chickamauga.  "The  three  gaps 
in  Pigeon  Mountain  are  Bluebird  and  Dug  and  Catlett's.  We  will 
of  course  hold  these,  and  if  Crittenden  or  Thomas  is  really  in  Mc 
Lemore's  Cove,  I  will  dispatch  a  force  against  them.  General  Long- 
street's  arrival  cannot  now  be  long  delayed." 

Longstreet,  travelling  from  Louisa  Court-House  in  Virginia  by 
Petersburg,  Wilmington,  Augusta,  and  Atlanta,  because  Burnside 
held  the  shorter  Knoxville  route,  had  in  all  nine  hundred  miles  to 
traverse,  and  to  serve  him  and  his  corps  but  one  single-track,  war 
worn  grey  railroad  of  dejected  behaviour.  Lone  and  lorn  as  was  the 
railroad,  it  rose  to  the  emergency  and  deserved  the  cheers  with 
which,  after  long  days  of  companionship,  Longstreet's  troops  finally 


CHICKAMAUGA  227 

quitted  the  rails.  On  the  sixteenth  the  regiments  of  Hood  began  to 
arrive  at  Dal  ton.  On  this  day  also  Rosecrans,  a  tenacious,  able  gen 
eral,  completed  the  drawing  of  his  lines  —  eleven  miles,  northeast 
to  southwest  —  from  Lee  and  Gordon's  Mills  on  the  east  bank  of 
Chickamauga  to  Stevens's  Gap  in  Lookout  Mountain. 

On  the  eighteenth,  General  Bragg,  at  Lafayette,  issued  the  fol 
lowing  order:  — 

"i.  Bushrod  Johnson's  column,  on  crossing  at  or  near  Reed's 
Bridge  will  turn  to  the  left  by  the  most  practical  route,  and  sweep 
up  the  Chickamauga  toward  Lee  and  Gordon's  Mills. 

"2.  Walker,  crossing  at  Alexander's  Bridge,  will  unite  in  this 
move,  and  push  vigorously  on  the  enemy's  flank  and  rear  in  the 
same  direction. 

"3.  Buckner,  crossing  at  Tedford's  Ford,  will  join  in  the  move 
ment  to  the  left,  and  press  the  enemy  up  the  stream  from  Folk's 
front  at  Lee  and  Gordon's. 

"4.  Polk  will  press  his  forces  to  the  front  of  Lee  and  Gordon's 
Mills,  and  if  met  by  too  much  resistance  to  cross,  will  bear  to  the 
right  and  cross  at  Dalton's  Ford  or  at  Tedford's,  as  may  be  neces 
sary,  and  join  the  attack  wherever  the  enemy  may  be. 

"5.  Hill  will  cover  our  left  flank  from  an  advance  of  the  enemy 
from  the  cove,  and  by  pressing  the  cavalry  on  his  front,  ascertain 
if  the  enemy  is  reinforcing  at  Lee  and  Gordon's  Mills,  in  which  event 
he  will  attack  them  in  flank. 

"6.  Wheeler's  cavalry  will  hold  the  gaps  in  Pigeon  Mountain, 
and  cover  our  rear  and  left  and  bring  up  stragglers. 

"7.  All  teams,  etc.,  not  with  the  troops  should  go  toward  Ring- 
gold  and  Dalton  beyond  Taylor's  Ridge.  All  cooking  should  be 
done  at  the  trains.  Rations  when  cooked  will  be  forwarded  to  the 
troops. 

"8.  The  above  movements  will  be  executed  with  the  utmost 
promptness,  vigour,  and  persistence." 

"That's  an  excellent  order,"  said  D.  H.  Hill.  "The  only  fault  to 
be  found  with  it  is  that  it's  excellent-too-late.  Some  days  ago  was 
the  proper  date.  Then  we  could  have  dealt  with  them  piecemeal; 
now  they're  fifty  thousand  men  behind  breastworks." 


228  CEASE  FIRING 

The  aide  wagged  his  head. "  Even  so,  we  can  beat  them,  General." 
D.  H.  Hill  looked  at  him  a  little  sardonically.  "  Of  course,  of  course, 
we  can  beat  them  !  But  have  you  noticed  how  many  men  we  lose 
in  beating  them  ?  And  have  you  any  idea  how  we  are  to  continue  to 
get  men?  It  takes  time  to  grow  oaks  and  men.  What  the  South 
needs  is  some  Cadmus  to  break  the  teeth  out  of  skulls,  sow  them, 
and  raise  overnight  a  crop  of  armed  men !  There  are  plenty  of  skulls, 
God  knows !  We  are  seeing  in  our  day  a  curious  phenomenon.  Armies 
are  growing  younger.  We  are  galloping  toward  the  cradle.  The  V. 
M.  I.  Cadets  will  be  out  presently,  and  then  the  nine-  and  ten- 
year-olds.  Of  course  the  women  might  come  on  afterwards,  though, 
to  tell  the  truth,"  said  Hill, "  they  've  been  in  the  field  from  the  first." 

"Here's  General  Forrest." 

Forrest  rode  up.  "  General  Hill,  ain't  it  ?  Good  morning,  sir. 
I  am  going  to  fight  my  men  dismounted.  This  is  going  to  be  an 
infantry  battle." 

"  I  have  heard,  General,"  said  Hill,  "  that  you  have  never  lost 
a  fight.  How  do  you  manage  it  ?  " 

"  I  git  there  first  with  the  most  men." 
^    "You  don't  hold  then  with  throwing  in  troops  piecemeal?" 

"No,"  said  Forrest,  with  a  kind  of  violence.  "You  kin  play  the 
banjo  all  right  with  one  finger  after  another,  but  in  war  I  clutch  with 
the  whole  hand!" 

He  rode  on,  a  strange  figure,  an  uneducated  countryman,  behind 
him  no  military  training  or  influence,  no  West  Point;  a  man  of 
violences  and  magnanimities,  a  big,  smoky  personality,  here  dark, 
here  clearly,  broadly  lighted.  "He  was  born  a  soldier  as  men  are 
born  poets."  "Forrest!"  said  General  Joseph  E.  Johnston  long  af 
terwards.  "Had  Forrest  had  the  advantage  of  a  military  education 
and  training,  he  would  have  been  the  great  central  figure  of  the  war !" 

The  sun  of  the  eighteenth  of  September  sank  behind  the  moun 
tains.  A  cool  night  wind  sprang  up,  sighing  through  the  bronzing 
wood  and  rippling  the  surface  of  the  Chickamauga.  Three  brigades 
of  Hood's  division,  marching  rapidly  from  Dalton,  had  come  upon 
the  field;  with  them  Hood  himself,  with  his  splendid  personal  reputa 
tion,  his  blue  eyes  and  yellow  hair  and  headlong  courage.  He  had 
now  his  three  brigades  and  three  of  Bushrod  Johnson's.  That  church 
man  militant,  Leonidas  Polk,  held  the  centre  at  Lee  and  Gordon's 


CHICKAMAUGA  229 

Mills,  and  D.  H.  Hill  the  left.  Joseph  Wheeler  and  his  cavalry 
watched  the  left  flank,  Forrest  and  his  cavalry  the  right. 

The  country  was  rough,  the  roads  few  and  poor,  the  fords  of  the 
Chickamauga  in  the  same  category.  Dusk  of  the  eighteenth  found 
Hood  and  Walker  across  the  stream,  but  other  divisions  with  the 
fords  yet  to  make.  At  dawn  of  the  nineteenth,  the  Army  of  the  Cum 
berland  began  to  put  itself  into  position.  In  the  faint  light  the  out 
posts  of  the  blue  caught  sight  of  Buckner's  division  fording  the 
Chickamauga  at  Tedford's.  In  the  mist  and  dimness  they  thought 
they  saw  only  a  small  detached  grey  force.  Three  brigades  of  Bran- 
nan's  division  were  at  once  put  forward.  In  the  first  pink  light  Buck 
ner's  advanced  brigade  clashed  with  Croxton's.  With  a  burst  of 
sound  like  an  explosion  in  the  dim  wood  began  the  battle  of  Chicka 
mauga  —  one  of  the  worst  in  history,  twice  bloodier  than  Wagram, 
than  Marengo,  than  Austerlitz,  higher  in  its  two  days'  fallen  than 
Sharpsburg,  a  terrible,  piteous  fight. 

Forrest,  on  the  right,  was  immediately  engaged.  "We've  stirred 
up  a  yaller-jacket's  nest,"  he  said,  and  sent  to  General  Polk  a  re 
quest  for  Armstrong's  division  of  his  own  corps.  The  centre  needing 
cavalry,  too,  there  was  returned  only  DibbrelPs  brigade.  Dibbrell's 
men  were  dismounted,  and  together  with  John  Pegram's  division  — 
also,  in  this  battle,  actingfoot  soldiers  —  began  a  bloody,  continued 
struggle.  The  point  of  the  blue  wedge  had  been  four  infantry  brig 
ades  and  one  of  cavalry,  but  now  the  thickness  was  disclosed,  and 
it  fairly  proved  to  be  Rosecrans  in  position.  While  the  grey  had 
moved  up  the  Chickamauga,  that  able  blue  strategist,  under  the 
cover  of  night,  had  moved  down  the  opposite  bank.  The  grey 
crossed  —  and  found  their  right  enveloped!  The  Fourteenth  Army 
Corps,  George  H.  Thomas  commanding,  was  here,  and  later  there 
were  reinforcements  from  the  Twenty-first,  Crittenden's  corps.  The 
storm,  beginning  with  no  great  fury,  promptly  swelled  until  it  at 
tained  the  terrific.  Forrest  sent  again  for  infantry  support.  None 
came,  the  centre  having  its  own  anxieties.  "If  you  want  to  git  a 
thing  done,  do  it  yourself,"  quoth  Forrest,  and  rode  up  to  John 
Pegram.  "We've  got  to  have  more  fighters  and  I'm  going  to  fetch 
them.  Hold  your  ground,  General  Pegram,  I  don't  care  what 
happens!" 

"All  right,  sir.  Neither  do  I,"  said  Pegram,  and  held  it,  with  the 


230  CEASE  FIRING 

loss  of  one  fourth  of  his  command.  The  pall  of  smoke  settled,  heavily, 
heavily!  The  dismounted  troops  fought  here  in  the  open,  here  behind 
piled  brushwood  and  fallen  logs,  while  the  few  grey  batteries  spoke 
from  every  little  point  of  vantage.  From  the  woods  in  front  leaped 
the  volleys  of  the  blue,  came  whistling  the  horrible  shells.  The 
brushwood  was  set  afire,  the  cavalrymen  moving  from  place  to  place. 
They  fought  like  Forrest's  men.  Rifle  barrels  grew  too  hot  to  touch; 
all  lips  were  blackened  with  cartridge  powder.  There  was  a  certain 
calmness  in  the  face  of  storm,  sotto  wee  remarks,  now  and  then  a 
chuckling  laugh.  The  finger  of  Death  was  forever  pointing,  but  by 
now  the  men  were  used  to  Death's  attitudinizing.  They  took  no 
great  account  of  the  habitual  gesture.  When  he  came  to  sweep  with 
his  whole  arm,  then  of  course  you  had  to  get  out  of  his  way!  The  hot 
day  mounted  and  the  clangour  of  the  right  mounted.  Back  came 
Forrest,  riding  hard,  at  his  heels  the  infantry  brigades  of  Wilson  and 
Walthall.  A  line  of  battle  was  formed;  Wilson  and  Walthall,  Dib- 
brell  and  Pegram  and  Nathan  Bedford  Forrest  advancing  with  a 
yell,  coming  to  close  range,  pouring  volley  after  volley  into  the 
dense,  blue  ranks.  The  dense,  blue  ranks  answered;  Death  howled 
through  the  vale  of  Chickamauga.  Wilson's  men  took  a  battery, 
hard  fought  to  the  last.  The  grey  brigade  of  Ector  came  up  and 
formed  on  Wilson's  right.  Fiercely  attacked,  Ector  sent  an  aide  to 
Forrest.  "General  Forrest,  General  Ector  is  hard  pressed  and  is 
uneasy  as  to  his  right  flank."  Forrest  nodded  his  head,  his  eyes  on  a 
Federal  battery  spouting  flame.  "Tell  General  Ector  not  to  bother 
about  his  right  flank!  I'll  take  care  of  it."  The  aide  went  back,  to 
find  Wilson's  brigade,  on  Ector's  left,  in  extremity.  Ector  sent  him 
again,  and  he  found  Forrest  now  in  action,  directing,  urging  his  men 
forward  with  a  voice  like  a  bull  of  Bashan's  and  with  a  great,  war 
like  appearance.  "General  Forrest,  General  Ector  says  that  his 
left  flank  is  now  in  danger!"  Forrest  turned,  stamped  his  foot,  and 
shouted,  "Tell  General  Ector  that,  by  God!  I  am  here,  and  I  will 
take  care  of  his  left  flank  and  of  his  right  flank!" 

On  went  the  grey  charge,  infantry  and  dismounted  cavalry. 
Yaaaaih !  Yaaaaihhh !  Yaaaaiiihhhh !  it  yelled  and  tossed  its  col 
ours.  Back  it  pressed  the  blue,  back,  back!  The  first  line  went  back, 
the  second  line  went  back  .  .  .  and  then  was  seen  through  rifts  in 
the  smoke  the  great  third  line,  breastworks  in  front. 


CHICKAMAUGA  231 

George  Thomas  was  a  fighter,  too,  and  he  flung  forward  Brannan 
and  Baird  and  Reynolds,  with  Palmer  and  VanCleve  of  Crittenden's 
corps.  Out  of  the  smoky  wood  the  blue  burst  with  thunder,  flanking 
Wilson  and  opening  a  furious  enfilading  fire.  It  grew  terrible,  a 
withering  blast  before  which  none  could  stand.  Wilson  was  forced 
back,  the  whole  grey  line  was  forced  back.  Forrest's  guns  were  al 
ways  clean  to  the  front.  They  must  be  gotten  back  —  but  so  many 
of  the  horses  were  dead  or  dying,  and  so  many  of  the  artillerymen. 
Those  left  put  strength  to  the  pieces,  got  them  off,  got  them  back 
through  the  brush  in  ways  that  could  afterwards  hardly  be  remem 
bered.  There  was  a  piece  entirely  endangered  —  all  the  horses  down 
and  most  of  the  men.  Forrest  shouted  to  four  of  his  mounted  escort. 
Cavalry  dropped  into  the  places  of  battery  horses  and  drivers.  In 
a  twinkling  they  were  harnessed  —  off  went  cavalry  with  the  gun 
through  the  echoing  wood,  the  smoke  wreaths,  and  the  shouting. 
The  grey  went  back  not  far:  the  blue  but  regained  their  first  position. 
It  was  high  noon.  Then  entered  the  fight  the  divisions  of  Liddell  and 
Cheatham. 

Liddell  had  two  thousand  men.  Bursting  through  the  under 
growth  they  came  into  hot  touch  with  Baird's  re-forming  lines. 
They  broke  the  brigades  of  King  and  Scribner;  they  took  two  bat 
teries;  yelling,  they  pursued  their  victory.  The  smoke  lifted.  The 
two  thousand  were  in  the  concave  of  a  blue  sickle,  their  line  over 
lapped,  right  and  left  —  Brannan's  men  now  and  R.  W.  Johnson,  of 
McCook's  corps.  Liddell,  wheeling  to  the  right,  beat  from  that 
deadly  hollow  a  justifiable  retreat. 

Cheatham  came  over  a  low  hill  with  five  brigades.  It  was  a  vet 
eran  division,  predestined  to  grim  fighting.  Down  on  the  Alexander 
Bridge  road  he  formed  his  line,  then,  as  Walker's  commands  were 
pressed  back,  as  the  hurrahing  blue  columns  swept  forward,  he 
entered  the  battle  with  the  precision  of  a  stone  from  David's  sling. 
The  blue  wavered,  broke!  In  rushed  Cheatham's  thousands,  driving 
the  foe,  fiercely  driving  him.  The  foe  withdrew  behind  his  breast 
works,  and  from  that  shelter  turned  against  the  grey  a  concentrated 
fire  of  musketry  and  artillery.  The  grey  stood  and  answered  with 
fury.  The  ground  was  all  covered  with  felled  trees,  piles  of  brush 
wood,  timber  shaken  down  like  jackstraws.  No  alignment  could  be 
kept ;  the  men  fired  in  groups  or  as  single  marksmen.  As  such  they 


CEASE  FIRING 

strove  to  advance,  as  such  they  were  mowed  down.  The  blue  began 
to  hurrah.  Palmer  of  Crittenden's  corps  came  swinging  in  with  a 
flanking  movement. 

But  Palmer's  hurrahing  lines  were  checked,  as  had  been  Bran- 
nan's  and  Johnson's.  In  through  the  woods,  now  all  afire,  came  A. 
P.  Stewart's  division  of  Buckner's  corps.  Alabama  and  Tennessee, 
three  thousand  muskets,  it  struck  Palmer's  line  and  forced  it  aside. 
Van  Cleve  came  to  help,  but  Van  Cleve  gave  way,  too,  pressed  by 
the  grey  across  the  vast,  smoke-filled  stage  to  the  ridge  crowned  by 
earthworks  that  like  a  drop-scene  closed  the  back.  The  roar  of  battle 
filled  all  space;  officers  could  not  be  heard,  nor,  in  the  universal 
smoke,  could  waved  sword  or  hat  be  seen.  Off  to  the  right,  Forrest's 
bugles  were  ringing.  Now  and  then  drums  were  beaten,  but  this 
noise  seemed  no  louder  than  woodpeckers  tapping,  lost  in  the  crash 
of  the  volleys.  Alabama  and  Tennessee  pressed  on.  It  was  half 
past  two  o'clock. 

Hood  had  three  brigades  of  his  own  division  and  three  of  Bushrod 
Johnson's,  and  now,  from  the  Lee  and  Gordon's  Mills  road,  Hood, 
unleashed  at  last,  entered  the  battle.  Into  it,  yelling  and  firing, 
double-quicked  his  tall  grey  lines.  He  came  with  the  force  of  a 
catapult.  Yaaaih  !  Yaaaiiiihhh  !  yelled  Tennessee,  North  Carolina, 
Arkansas,  and  Texas.  They  struck  the  Chattanooga  road  and  drove 
the  blue  along  it,  toward  the  westering  sun.  Up  at  a  double  swung 
the  fresh  blue  troops  of  Negley  and  Wood,  Davis  and  Sheridan. 
In  the  descending  day  they  pushed  the  grey  again  to  the  eastward 
of  the  contested  road. 

At  sunset  in  came  Patrick  Cleburne,  general  beloved,  marching 
with  his  division  over  wildly  obstructed  roads  from  Hill  on  the 
extreme  right.  But  it  was  late  and  the  dark  and  smoky  day  was 
closing  down.  Night  came,  filled  with  the  smell  and  taste  of  burned 
powder  and  of  the  wood  smoke  from  all  the  forest  afire.  The  firing 
became  desultory,  died  away,  save  for  now  and  then  a  sound  of 
skirmishers.  The  two  armies,  Army  of  Tennessee,  Army  of  Cumber 
land,  rested. 

They  rested  from  strife,  but  not  from  preparation  for  strife.  The 
two  giants,  the  blue  and  the  grey,  were  weary  enough,  but  between 
Chickamauga  and  the  slopes  of  Missionary  Ridge  they  did  small 
sleeping  that  Saturday  night,  the  nineteenth  of  September,  1863. 


CHICKAMAUGA  233 

All  night  rang  the  axes.  " Log- works,"  said  the  grey  giant.  "At 
dawn,  I  am  going  to  storm  log- works."  Fifty-seven  thousand  strong 
was  the  blue  giant  and  the  grey  about  the  same.  "To-morrow's 
fight,"  said  both,  "is  going  to  lay  over  to-day's."  "Where,"  said, 
in  addition,  the  grey  —  "where  is  General  Longstreet  ?" 

The  soldiers  who  might  sleep,  slept  on  their  arms,  under  a  sulphur 
ous  canopy.  All  the  forest  hereabouts  was  thick  with  brushwood 
and  summer-parched.  It  burned  in  a  hundred  places.  The  details, 
gathering  the  wounded,  carried  torches.  It  was  lurid  enough,  all  the 
far-flung  field.  There  were  very  many  wounded,  many  dead.  Blue 
and  grey  alike  heard  the  groaning  of  their  fallen.  Ahh  !  ahhhf 
groaned  the  forest.  And  the  word  that  was  always  heard,  as  soon  as 
the  guns  were  silent,  was  heard  now,  steady  as  cicadas  in  a  grove. 
Water/  Water!  Water!  Water!  Water!  There  was  a  moon,  but  not 
plainly  seen  because  of  the  gauze  that  was  over  the  earth.  A  chill 
and  restless  night  it  was,  filled  with  comings  and  goings,  and  move 
ments  of  large  bodies  of  troops. 

Just  before  midnight  Longstreet  appeared  in  person.  The  weary 
grey  railroad  had  brought  him,  in  the  afternoon,  to  Catoosa  plat 
form,  near  Ringgold.  With  two  aides  he  took  horse  at  once  and 
pushed  out  toward  the  field  of  action.  But  the  woods  were  thick  and 
the  roads  an  unmarked  tangle.  He  came  at  last  upon  the  field  and 
met  General  Bragg  at  midnight.  Behind  him,  yet  upon  the  road, 
were  three  brigades  of  Hood's  division  and  Kershaw's  and  Hum 
phrey's,  of  McLaws's. 

There  was  a  council  of  war.  It  was  understood,  it  was  in  the  air, 
that  the  past  day  had  been  but  a  prelude.  Now  Bragg  announced 
to  his  officers  a  change  of  plan.  The  Army  of  Tennessee  was  divided 
into  two  wings.  The  right  was  composed  of  Walker's  and  Hill's 
corps,  Cheatham's  division,  and  the  cavalry  of  Forrest.  Leonidas 
Polk  commanded  here.  The  left  was  formed  by  Hood's  and  Buck- 
ner's  corps,  the  division  of  Hindman,  and  Joe  Wheeler's  cavalry, 
and  Longstreet  commanded  this  wing. 

"And  the  plan  of  attack  ?" 

"As  it  was  to-day.  Successive  pushes  from  right  to  left.  The 
attack  to  begin  at  daylight." 

But  daylight  was  not  far  away,  and  the  movements  to  be  made 
were  many.  The  sun  was  above  the  tree- tops  when  Breckinridge 


234  CEASE  FIRING 

advanced  upon  the  Chattanooga  road  and  opened  the  battle  of  the 
twentieth.  "  Sunday,"  said  the  men.  "  Going  to  church  —  going  to 
church  —  going  to  a  little  mountain  church !  Going  to  be  singing  — 
Minie  singing.  Going  to  be  preaching  —  big  gun  preaching.  We  've 
got  what  the  General  calls  a  ponshon  for  Sunday  service.  .  .  .  Lot 
of  dead  people  in  this  wood.  Have  n't  you  ever  noticed  how  much 
worse  a  half-burned  cabin  looks  than  one  burned  right  down  ?  That 
one  over  there  —  it  looks  as  if  home  was  still  a-lingering  around. 
Go  'way!  it  does!  You  boys  haven't  got  no  imagination.  —  No 
imagination  —  no  imagination  —  No  shoes  and  pretty  nearly  no 
breakfast.  ...  I  wish  this  here  dust  was  imagination  — 

"The  sun  shines  bright  in  the  old  Kentucky  home; 

'T  is  summer,  the  darkies  are  gay, 
The  corn-top 's  ripe  and  the  meadow 's  in  the  bloom, 
While  the  birds  make  music  all  the  day." 

"Birds  all  fly  away  from  battle-fields"  —  "Not  when  there  are 
nestlings !  Saw  a  tree  set  on  fire  by  hot  shot  from  Yankee  gunboat  on 
the  Tennessee.  Marched  by  it  when  it  was  jest  a  pillar  of  flame,  and, 
by  gum !  there  was  a  mocking-bird  dead  on  her  nest,  with  her  wings 
spread  out  over  the  little  birds.  All  of  them  dead.  ...  It  made 
you  wonder.  And,  by  gum!  the  captain,  when  he  saw  it  —  the  cap 
tain  saluted!" 

"The  young  folks  roll  on  the  little  cabin  floor, 

All  merry,  all  happy  and  bright; 
By  V  by  hard  times  comes  a-knocking  at  the  door, 
Then,  my  old  Kentucky  home,  good  night!" 

"Whew!  That's  a  pretty  line  of  breastworks  over  there  before 
Helm's  brigade!  Reckon  that's  what  Billy  Yank  was  building  all 
night  long!  —  Helm's  going  forward — "  Kentuckians !  Charge 
bayonets  I  Double-quick  f 

Helm  was  killed,  heroically  leading  his  brigade.  The  colonel  of 
the  Second  Kentucky  was  killed,  the  colonel  of  the  Ninth  badly 
wounded.  The  Ninth  lost  a  third  of  its  number.  "I  went  into  the 
fight,"  says  the  colonel  of  the  Second,  "with  thirty  officers  and  two 
hundred  and  seventy- two  men,  and  came  out  with  ten  officers  and 
one  hundred  and  forty-six  men.  Both  officers  and  men  behaved  gal 
lantly."  The  colonel  of  the  Fourth  was  badly  wounded;  the  Sixth 
had  its  losses ;  the  Forty-first  Alabama  went  in  with  something  over 


CHICK  AMAUGA  235 

three  hundred  men,  and  lost  in  killed  twenty-seven,  in  wounded,  one 
hundred  and  twenty.   Three  captains  of  the  Second  were  killed  at 
the  foot  of  the  works,  and  the  colour-sergeant,  Robert  Anderson, 
having  planted  the  flag  a- top,  died  with  his  hands  about  the  staff. 
Adams's  Louisiana  brigade  came  to  the  help  of  Helm.   Adams, 
severely  wounded,  was  taken  prisoner.    The  combat  raged,  bitter 
and  bloody.  There  was  a  long,  long  line  of  well-erected  breastworks, 
with  a  shorter  line  at  right  angles.  The  divisions  of  Thomas  fought 
grimly,  heroically;  the  brigades  of  Breckinridge  went  to  the  assault 
as  heroically.   Nowadays  no  Confederate  brigade,  no  Confederate 
regiment,  had  full  complement  of  muskets.   They  were  skeleton 
organizations,  gaunt  as  their  units,  but  declining  to  merge  because 
each  would  keep  its  old,  heroic  name.   Spare  as  they  were,  they 
threw  themselves,  yelling,  against  the  log- works.  Breckinridge  was 
tall  and  straight  and  filled  with  fiery  courage.   Vice-President,  on  a 
time,  of  the  United  States,  now  grey  general  on  the  chessboard,  he 
showed  here,  as  there,  a  brilliant,  commanding  personality.  His 
men,  proud  of  him,  fought  with  his  own  high  ardour.  The  withering 
blast  came  against  them;  they  shouted  and  tossed  it  back.   Now 
there  came  also  against  the  breastworks  the  division  of  Cleburne. 
Patrick  Romayne  Cleburne,  —  thirty-six  years  old,  but  with 
greying  hair  above  his  steel-grey  eyes,  Irishman  of  the  county  of 
Cork,  one  time  soldier  in  the  English  army,  then  lawyer  in  the  city 
of  Helena  and  the  State  of  Arkansas,  then  private  in  the  Confederate 
army,  then  captain,  then  colonel,  then  brigadier,  and  now  major- 
general,  —  Patrick  Cleburne  commanded  a  division  that,  also,  had 
its  personality.   The  division's  heart  and  his  heart  beat  in  unison. 
"He  was  not  only  a  commander,  but  a  comrade  fighting  with  his 
men."  Arkansas,  Tennessee,  Texas,  Alabama,  Mississippi,  and  the 
Irish  regiment  adored  Cleburne,  and  Cleburne  returned  their  love. 
"To  my  noble  division,"  he  wrote  to  a  lady,  "and  not  to  myself, 
belong  the  praises  for  the  deeds  of  gallantry  you  mention."    Cle- 
burne's  division  had  its  own  flags,  and  on  each  was  worked  a  device 
of  "crossed  cannon  inverted,"  and  the  name  of  the  battle-fields  over 
which  it  had  been  carried.    "Prior  to  the  battle  of  Shiloh,"  says 
General  Hardee,  "  a  blue  battle-flag  had  been  adopted  by  me  for  this 
division,  and  when  the  Confederate  battle-flag  became  the  national 
colours,  Cleburne's  division,  at  its  urgent  request,  was  allowed  to 


236  CEASE  FIRING 

retain  its  own  bullet-ridden  battle-flags.  .  .  .  Friends  and  foes  soon 
learned  to  watch  the  course  of  the  blue  flag  that  marked  where  Cle- 
burne  was  in  the  battle.  Where  this  division  defended,  no  odds 
broke  its  lines  where  it  attacked,  no  numbers  resisted  its  onslaught — 
save  only  once  —  and  there  is  the  grave  of  Cleburne  and  his  heroic 
division."  Now  at  Chickamauga,  Cleburne  and  forty-four  hundred 
bayonets  swung  into  battle  to  the  support  of  Breckinridge.  Before 
Cleburne,  also,  at  short  range,  were  breastworks,  and  now  from  these 
there  burst  a  tempest  of  grape  and  canister,  with  an  undersong  of 
musketry.  It  was  a  fire  that  mowed  like  a  scythe.  Wood's  brigade 
had  to  cross  an  old  field  bordering  the  Chattanooga  road,  an  old  field 
marked  by  a  burning  house.  Crossing,  there  burst  against  it,  from 
hidden  batteries  to  right  and  left,  a  blast  as  from  a  furnace  seven 
times  heated.  Five  hundred  men  fell  here,  killed  and  wounded.  On 
the  left  Lucius  Folk's  brigade  came  against  breastworks  cresting  a 
hill  covered  with  scrub  oak.  Blue  and  grey  engaged  with  fury.  Down 
poured  the  blast  from  the  ridge,  canister  and  grape  and  musketry. 
Lucius  Folk's  men  lay  down  behind  the  crest  of  a  lower  ridge,  and 
kept  up  the  fight,  losing  in  no  great  time  three  hundred  and  fifty 
officers  and  men.  Deshler's  brigade  moved  forward.  A  shell  came 
shrieking,  struck  Deshler  in  the  breast,  and  killed  him.  Cleburne 
shook  his  head.  "Too  much  loss  of  good  life!"  —  and  withdraw 
ing  the  division  four  hundred  yards,  took  up  a  strong  defensive 
position. 

Breckinridge  and  Cleburne,  there  was  loss  of  life  enough.  What 
was  gained  was  this:  Thomas  called  for  reinforcements,  and  Rose- 
crans,  to  strengthen  his  left,  began  to  weaken  his  right.  To  the  aid 
of  Baird  and  Johnson,  Palmer  and  Reynolds  behind  the  breast 
works,  came  first  a  brigade  of  Negley's  division,  then  regiments 
from  Palmer's  reserve,  and  then  from  the  left  troops  of  McCook 
and  Sheridan. 

The  divisions  of  Gist  and  Liddell,  Walker's  corps,  moved  to  the 
aid  of  Breckinridge,  Gist  throwing  himself  with  fury  against  the 
works  before  which  Helm  had  fallen.  It  was  eleven  o'clock.  Bragg 
ordered  in  Stewart's  division.  The  three  brigades  —  Clayton, 
Brown,  and  Bate  —  charged  under  a  deadly  fire,  "  the  most  terrible 
fire  it  has  ever  been  my  fortune  to  witness."  Brown's  men,  exposed 
to  an  enfilade,  broke,  but  Clayton  and  Bate  rushed  on  past  the  clear- 


CHICKAMAUGA  237 

ing,  past  the  burning  house,  past  the  Chattanooga  road.  They  drove 
the  blue  within  entrenchments,  they  took  a  battery  and  many 
prisoners.  Thomas  sent  again  to  Rosecrans,  and  Rosecrans  further 
weakened  his  right.  His  adjutant  forwarded  an  order  to  McCook. 
The  left  must  be  supported  at  all  hazards,  "even  if  the  right  is 
drawn  wholly  to  the  present  left."  After  Van  Cleve  had  been  sent, 
and  Sheridan  and  Negley,  there  came  yet  another  message  that  the 
left  was  heavily  pressed.  The  aide  bringing  it  stated  that  Brannan 
was  out  of  line  and  Reynolds's  right  exposed.  Rosecrans  sent  an 
order  to  Wood,  commanding  a  division  — 

"The  general  commanding  directs  that  you  close  up  on  Reynolds 
as  fast  as  possible  and  support  him" 

It  was  the  fatal,  the  pivotal  order.  Wood  moved  —  and  left  a 
great  opening  in  the  blue  line  of  battle.  Toward  the  filling  of  this 
gap  there  moved  with  precision  two  brigades  of  Sheridan's.  But 
some  one  else  moved  first,  with  a  masterful  change  of  plan,  made 
with  the  swiftness  of  that  glint  of  Opportunity's  eye. 

Longstreet  had  made  a  column  of  attack,  three  lines,  eight  brig 
ades.  Long,  grey,  magnificent,  these  moved  forward,  steady  as 
steel,  eyes  just  narrowed  in  the  face  of  the  hurricane  of  shot  and  shell. 
"Old  Pete,"  "the  old  war  horse,"  rode  with  them,  massively  direct 
ing.  The  smoke  was  drifting,  drifting  over  the  field  of  Chickamauga, 
over  the  River  of  Death  and  the  slopes  of  Missionary  Ridge.  Under 
foot  was  dust  and  charred  herbage  and  the  dead  and  the  wounded. 
On  the  right  the  roar  of  the  fight  never  ceased  —  Forrest,  Breckin- 
ridge,  Cleburne,  Walker,  Stewart,  and  George  Thomas  behind  his 
breastworks. 

Longstreet  with  his  eight  brigades,  swinging  toward  the  right, 
saw,  through  a  rift  in  the  smoke,  the  movement  of  Wood  and  the 
gap  which  now,  suddenly,  was  made  between  the  Federal  right  and 
left.  A  kind  of  slow  light  came  into  Longstreet's  face.  "By  the  right 
flank,  wheel!  —  Double-quick  I  —  Forward!  Charge  !  " 

Hood  was  leading.  His  line  struck  like  a  thunderbolt  the  foe  in 
reverse,  struck  McCook's  unprepared  brigades.  There  sprang  and 
swelled  an  uproar  that  overcrowed  all  the  din  to  the  right.  McCook 
broke,  the  grey  drove  on.  They  yelled.  Yaaaihl  Yaaaihhh! 
Yaaaaihh !  yelled  the  grey.  Hood  rose  in  his  stirrups  and  shouted 
an  order  to  Bushrod  Johnson.  "  Go  ahead,  and  keep  ahead  of  every- 


238  CEASE   FIRING 

thing!"  Aminieball  shattered  his  thigh.  He  sank  from  his  horse; 
Law  took  command ;  on  swept  the  great  charge.  Brigades  of  Mani- 
gault  and  Deas,  McNair,  Gregg,  Johnson,  Law,  Humphrey,  Ben- 
ning,  with  Patton  Anderson,  of  Hindman's  division,  they  burst 
from  the  forest  into  open  fields  running  through  smoky  sunshine 
backward  and  upward  to  ridges  crowned  by  Federal  batteries.  All 
these  broke  into  thunder,  loud  and  fast,  but  the  blue  infantry, 
surprised,  broken,  streamed  across  the  fields  in  disorder.  Behind 
them  came  the  vehement  charge,  long,  triumphant,  furious,  with 
blare  and  dust  and  smoke  and  thunder,  with  slanted  colours,  with 
neighing  chargers,  with  burning  eyes  and  lifted  voices.  All  the  elan 
of  the  South  was  here.  Brigade  by  brigade,  Longstreet  burst  from 
the  forest.  Yelling,  this  charge  drove  the  blue  from  their  breast 
works,  took  the  house  that  was  their  headquarters,  took  twenty- 
seven  pieces  of  artillery,  and  more  than  a  thousand  prisoners,  laid 
hand  upon  hospitals  and  ordnance  trains,  slew  and  wounded  and 
bore  the  blue  back,  back !  McCook  suffered  heavily,  oh,  heavily!  "I 
have  never,"  says  D.  H.  Hill,  —  "I  have  never  seen  the  Federal 
dead  lie  so  thickly  on  the  ground  save  in  front  of  the  sunken  wall  at 
Fredericksburg." 

There  was  a  line  of  heights  behind  the  Vidito  house,  beyond  the 
Crawfish  Spring  road.  Thomas  seized  these,  and  here  the  blue  rallied 
and  turned  for  a  yet  more  desperate  struggle.  It  came.  Hindman 
and  Bushrod  Johnson  proposed  to  take  those  heights  by  assault. 
They  took  them,  but  at  a  cost,  at  a  cost,  at  a  cost!  When  they 
won  to  the  Vidito  house,  the  women  of  the  family  left  whatever 
hiding-place  from  the  shells  they  had  contrived,  and  ran,  careless  of 
the  whistling  death  in  the  air,  out  before  the  house.  They  laughed, 
they  wept,  they  welcomed.  "God  bless  you!  God  bless  you!  It's 
going  to  be  a  victory!  It's  going  to  be  a  victory!  God  bless  you!" 
The  grey,  storming  on,  waved  hat  and  cheered.  "It's  going  to  be 
a  victory!  It's  going  to  be  a  victory!  God  bless  you!" 

Up  on  the  sides  of  the  ridge  it  came  to  hand-to-hand  fighting,  a 
dreadful,  prolonged  struggle,  men  clubbing  men  with  muskets, 
men  piercing  men's  breasts  with  bayonets,  men's  faces  scorched,  so 
near  were  they  to  the  iron,  flaming  muzzles!  Over  all  roared  the 
guns,  settled  the  smoke;  underfoot  the  earth  grew  blood-soaked. 
Inch  by  inch  the  grey  fought  their  way;  inch  by  inch  the  blue  gave 


CHICK  AMAUGA  239 

back,  driven  up  the  long  slope  to  the  very  crest  of  the  ridge.  The 
sun  was  low  in  the  heavens. 

On  Horseshoe  Ridge  the  fight  grew  fell.  And  now  came  to  the 
aid  of  the  right  wing,  came  in  long,  resistless  combers,  the  brigades 
of  Hill.  They  came  through  the  woods  afire,  over  the  clearings 
sown  with  dead  and  wounded,  up  the  slope  of  Horseshoe.  Once 
more  the  summit  flamed  and  thundered  —  then  the  blue  summit 
turned  grey.  Over  the  crest,  down  the  northern  slope  of  the  ridge 
swept  the  united  wings,  right  wing  and  left  wing.  They  made  a 
thresher's  fan;  before  it  the  blue  fell  away,  passed  from  the  slope 
into  deep  hollows  of  the  approaching  night.  Right  wing  and  left 
wing  shouted;  they  shouted  until  Lookout  Mountain,  dark  against 
the  sunset  sky,  might  have  heard  their  shouting. 

On  the  field  of  Chickamauga,  by  the  River  of  Death,  thirty  thou 
sand  men  lay  dead  or  wounded,  or  were  prisoners  or  missing.  If 
there  were  Indian  spirits  in  these  woods  they  might  have  said  in 
council  that  September  night:  "How  fierce  and  fell  and  bloody- 
minded  is  this  white  man  who  wars  where  once  we  warred!  Look 
at  the  long  files  of  his  ghost,  rising  like  mist  from  Chickamauga, 
passing  like  thin  smoke  across  the  moon!" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

MISSIONARY  RIDGE 

A,  day  the  twenty-first  the  shattered  blue  army  lay  in  posi 
tion  at  Rossville,  five  miles  away.  But  Bragg,  his  army 
likewise  shattered  and  exhausted,  his  ammunition  failing, 
did  not  attack.  At  night  Rosecrans  withdrew  to  Chattanooga,  en 
trenching  himself  there.  On  the  twenty-second,  Bragg  followed,  and 
took  up  position  on  Missionary  Ridge  and  along  the  lower  slopes 
of  Lookout.  The  blue  base  of  supplies  was  at  Stevenson,  in  Ala 
bama,  forty  miles  away.  Cut  the  road  to  this  place  and  Rosecrans 
might  be  compelled  to  evacuate  Chattanooga. 

Bragg  sent  Law's  brigade  to  hold  the  Jasper  road.  Wheeler,  too, 
in  a  raid,  wrought  mischief  to  the  blue.  To  the  latter  the  possession 
of  the  Tennessee  River  and  the  building  of  a  bridge  became  of 
supreme  importance.  Down  the  stream  Rosecrans  sent  fifteen  hun 
dred  men  and  a  flotilla  of  pontoons,  while  a  land  force  marched  to 
guard  them.  Before  the  grey  could  gather  to  the  attack  the  bridge 
was  built.  A  day  or  two  later  came  to  the  aid  of  the  blue  "Fighting 
Joe"  Hooker  and  two  corps  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac.  On  the 
twenty-second  of  October,  Grant  arrived  in  Chattanooga  and  super 
seded  Rosecrans. 

There  occurred  the  night  battle  of  Wauhatchie,  —  four  brigades 
of  Hood's  attacking  Geary 's  division  of  the  Twelfth  Corps,  —  a 
short,  hard  fight,  where  each  side  lost  five  hundred  men  and  nothing 
gained.  But  now  to  the  South  to  lose  five  hundred  men  was  to  lose 
five  hundred  drops  of  heart's  blood,  impossible  of  replacement. 
Men  now  in  the  South  were  worth  their  weight  in  gold. 

There  came  to  the  grey  camps  news  that  Sherman,  with  a  con 
siderable  force,  was  on  the  road  from  Memphis.  Hooker,  with  the 
Eleventh  and  Twelfth  Corps,  was  here.  Grant  was  here.  From  the 
Knoxville  side  Burnside  threatened.  Action  became  imperative. 

Bragg  acted,  but  not,  perhaps,  with  wisdom.  On  the  fourth  of 
November,  Longstreet's  corps  and  Wheeler's  cavalry  found  them- 


MISSIONARY   RIDGE  241 

selves  under  orders  for  Knoxville.  Longstreet  remonstrated,  but 
orders  were  orders.  Grey  First  Corps,  grey  cavalry  marched  away, 
marched  away.  The  weakened  force  before  Chattanooga  looked 
dubious,  shook  its  head.  Later,  Bragg  detached  two  other  brigades 
from  the  thin  grey  lines  and  sent  them  after  Longstreet  on  the  Knox 
ville  campaign.  Burnside  was  to  be  fought  there,  and  here  were  only 
Hooker,  Grant,  and  Sherman! 

Ten  thousand  infantry  and  artillery,  five  thousand  horse,  marched 
away.  The  loss  at  Chickamauga  had  been  perhaps  sixteen  thousand. 
What  remained  of  the  Army  of  Tennessee  had  to  hold  an  eight-mile 
line.  It  was  a  convex;  right  and  left  in  hollow  ground,  the  centre  on 
the  flank  of  Lookout  Mountain  and  the  crest  of  Missionary  Ridge. 
On  the  twenty-second,  Grant  began  under  cover  certain  operations. 

In  this  region  the  weather  is  mild,  even  on  the  twenty-fourth  of 
November.  A  crimson  yet  burned  in  the  oak  leaves,  and  the  air, 
though  mist-laden,  was  not  cold.  Grey  cliffs  form  a  palisade  on 
Lookout  Mountain.  Above  is  the  scarped  mountain-top,  below,  long 
wooded  slopes  sinking  steeply  to  the  levels  through  which  bends  and 
bends  again  the  Tennessee.  One  grey  brigade  —  Walthall's  Miss 
issippi  brigade  —  was  stationed  on  this  shoulder  of  Lookout;  below 
it  steep  woods,  above  it  the  cliffs,  with  creepers  here  and  there  yet 
scarlet-fingered.  The  day  was  tranquil,  quiet,  pearly  grey,  with  fog 
upon  the  mountain-head.  From  early  morning  the  fog  everywhere 
had  been  very  dense,  so  dense  that  men  could  not  be  distinguished 
at  a  hundred  yards.  It  was  known  that  affairs  were  on  the  point  of 
moving.  Walthall  and  his  Mississippians  were  alert  enough  —  and 
yet  the  day  and  the  woods  and  the  whole  far-flung  earth  were  so 
dreamy-calm,  so  misty-still,  that  any  battle  seemed  impossible  of 
quick  approach.  There  was  the  odour  of  wet  earth  and  rotting  leaves, 
there  was  the  dreamy,  multitudinous  forest  stir,  there  was  the  vague 
drifting  mist  —  the  soul  was  lulled  as  in  a  steady  boat.  Walthall's 
men  rested  on  the  earth,  by  quiet  little  camp-fires.  Their  arms  were 
at  hand,  but  it  seemed  not  a  day  of  fighting.  The  day  was  like  a 
grey  nun.  The  men  grew  dreamy,  too.  They  drawled  their  words. 
"This  air  a  fine  view,  when  it's  right  clear,"  they  said.  "Yes.  This 
air  a  fine  view.  But  when  the  Lord  laid  out  the  Tennessee  River  he 
surely  took  the  serpent  for  a  pattern!  He  surely  did.  Never  see 
such  a  river  for  head  and  tail  meeting  —  and  I  Ve  seen  a  lot  of  rivers 


242  CEASE   FIRING 

since  Dan  Tucker  rang  the  court-house  bell,  and  we  all  stood  around 
and  heard  Secession  proclaimed.  Yes,  sir.  I  Ve  seen  a  lot  of  rivers, 
—  big  rivers  and  little  rivers  and  middle-sized  rivers,  —  but  I  never 
see  a  river  twisted  like  the  Lord  's  twisted  the  Tennessee!"  —  "I 
wish,"  said  a  comrade,  "that  the  Lord'd  come  along  and  put  his 
finger  and  thumb  together  and  flip  away  those  danged  batteries  over 
there  on  Moccasin  Point  —  jest  flip  them  away  same  as  you'd  flip  a 
pig-nut.  Kind  of  funny  looking  over  there  to-day  anyhow!  Ef  I  had 
a  glass  — " 

"  Captain  's  got  a  glass.  He  's  looking  — " 

"So  much  fog  you  can't  see  nothing.  There's  batteries  on  the 
Ridge  beyond  Lookout  Creek,  too  — " 

"I  kin  usually  feel  it  in  my  bones  when  we're  going  to  have  a 
fight.  Don't  feel  nothing  to-day,  but  just  kind  of  studious-like.  The 
world 's  so  awful  quiet." 

"Cleburne's  men  are  away  off  there  at  Chickamauga  Creek  — " 

"Most  of  the  enemy's  tents  are  gone,"  said  the  captain,  "and 
they  have  removed  their  pontoon  bridges.  When  this  fog  lifts  — " 

Walthall  came  by,  talking  to  his  adjutant.  "As  far  as  you  can 
tell  for  the  fog  they  are  moving  rapidly  on  the  left.  General  Steven 
son  showed  me  an  order  from  General  Bragg.  Stevenson  has  the 
whole  defence  on  this  side  of  Chattanooga  Creek." 

"Do  you  think  they  will  attack  to-day?" 

"  Who  can  tell  ?  If  this  miserable  fog  would  lift  — " 

Crack!  crack!  crack!  crack!  out  of  the  woods  to  the  westward 
rang  the  muskets  of  the  picket  line.  Instantaneously,  from  the 
batteries  on  Moccasin  [Point,  from  the  batteries  on  the  ridge  over 
the  creek,  sprang  a  leap  of  light  that  tore  the  fog.  Followed  thunder, 
and  the  ploughing  of  shells  into  the  earth  of  Lookout.  The  grey 
brigade  sprang  to  arms.  In  tumbled  the  pickets.  "Yankees  above 
us—" 

"Above  — 1" 

The  Lookout  cliffs  were  tall  and  grey.  They  crowned  the  moun 
tain  with  an  effect  from  below  of  robber  castles.  The  November 
woods  were  so  sere  and  leafless  that  in  clear  weather,  looking  up  the 
long  slopes,  you  would  see  with  distinctness  wall  and  bastion.  To 
day  there  was  fog,  fog  torn  by  the  crowding  yellow  flashes  of  many 
rifles.  The  flashes  came  from  the  base  of  the  cliffs.  They  came  from 


MISSIONARY   RIDGE  243 

blue  troops,  troops  that  had  crept  from  the  west,  around  the  shoul 
der  of  Lookout,  along  the  base  of  the  cliffs  —  troops  that  were  many, 
troops  of  Hooker's  that  had  come  up  from  the  valley  of  Lookout 
Creek,  stealing  up  the  mountain  in  silence  and  security,  in  the  heavy 
fog.  Now  they  hurrahed  and  sprang  down  from  among  the  cliffs. 
Many  and  ready,  they  dropped  as  from  the  clouds;  they  took  the 
grey  brigade  in  reverse.  And  with  instantaneous  thunder  the  bat 
teries  opened  all  along  the  front. 

The  blue  —  Geary's  division  —  came  over  the  shoulder  of  the 
mountain  in  three  lines.  From  time  to  time  in  the  past  weeks  the 
grey  had  constructed  rude  works  of  stones  and  felled  wood.  Now  the 
men  fought  from  one  to  another  of  these ;  withdrawn  from  one  base 
to  a  second,  from  a  second  to  a  third,  they  fought  from  facet  to  facet 
of  Lookout.  The  ground  was  intolerably  rough,  with  boulder  and 
fallen  timber  and  snares  of  leafless  vines.  Now  the  grey  were  upon  a 
slope  where  the  casemented  batteries  of  Moccasin  Point  had  full 
play.  There  was  an  old  rifle-pit  dug  downward  and  across.  It  gave 
the  men  passing  over  this  shoulder  a  certain  vague  and  ineffective 
shelter.  Walthall's  men,  forced  from  Lookout,  came  to  Craven's 
house,  and  here,  in  hollow  ground,  made  a  stand  and  sent  for  rein 
forcements.  Pettus's  brigade  appearing  at  last,  the  fight  was  re 
newed.  It  waged  hotly  for  a  while,  but  the  odds  were  great.  The 
November  day  spread  its  mists  around.  Mississippi  and  Alabama 
fought  well  on  Lookout;  but  there  was  somehow  a  sinking  at  the 
heart,  a  dreary  knowledge  that  Grant  had  perhaps  a  hundred  thou 
sand  men  and  the  Army  of  Tennessee  a  third  of  that  number;  that 
General  Bragg  was  a  good  man,  but  not  a  soldier  like  Lee  or  Jackson 
or  Johnston;  that  Longstreet  should  never  have  been  detached; 
that  there  was  a  coldness  in  this  thickening  fog;  that  the  guns  on 
Moccasin  Point  were  as  venomous  as  its  name;  and  that  War  was  a 
nightmare  oftener  than  one  would  think.  Two  months  had  passed 
since  Chickamauga.  That  was  a  great  battle,  that  was  a  great, 
glorious,  terrible,  hot-blooded,  crashing  battle,  with  the  woods  ring 
ing  and  the  blue  breaking  before  you!  This  was  not  that.  Two 
months  of  sickness,  two  months  of  hard  picketing,  two  months  of 
small  rations  and  difficult  to  get,  two  months  of  dissatisfaction  with 
the  commanding  genera]  and  his  plan  of  campaign,  of  constant  crit 
icism,  of  soreness,  of  alternation  between  the  fractious  and  the  list- 


244  CEASE  FIRING 

less,  two  months  of  fretting  and  waiting  in  an  unhealthy  season,  in 
an  unhealthy  situation,  —  the  Army  of  Tennessee  was  in  a  conceiv 
ing  mood  that  differed  palpably  from  the  mood  of  Chickamauga!  It 
was  ready  for  bogies,  ready  for  —  what?  It  did  not  know.  At  dusk 
the  command  that  had  been  posted  on  Lookout,  pressed  backward 
and  down  throughout  the  foggy  day,  halted  at  the  foot  of  the  moun 
tain,  on  the  road  leading  outward  and  across  a  half-mile  of  valley  to 
Missionary  Ridge.  Here  in  darkness  and  discontent  it  waited  until 
midnight,  when,  under  orders  from  Cheatham,  it  sank  farther  down 
to  McFarland's  Spring.  At  dawn  it  was  marched  across  the  lowland 
to  Missionary  Ridge,  and  was  put  into  position  on  that  solemn  wave 
of  earth.  It  found  here  the  other  commands  forming  the  Confeder 
ate  centre. 

Patrick  Cleburne,  ordered  with  his  division  after  Longstreet  on  the 
Knoxville  expedition,  received  at  Chickamauga  Station  a  telegram 
from  the  general  commanding.  "We  are  heavily  engaged.  Move 
up  rapidly  to  these  headquarters." 

Cleburne  moved.  That  night,  the  night  of  the  twenty-third,  he 
spent  immediately  behind  Missionary  Ridge.  With  the  first  light  he 
began  to  construct  defences.  It  was  known  now  that  in  great  force 
Grant  had  crossed  the  Tennessee,  both  above  and  below  Chicka 
mauga.  It  was  known  that  the  great  blue  army,  Grant  with  Sher 
man  and  Hooker,  had  burst  from  Chattanooga  like  a  stream  in 
freshet;  the  dark  blue  waves  were  seen  wherever  the  fog  parted. 
They  coloured  all  the  lowland;  they  lifted  themselves  toward  the 
heights.  Already  the  waves  had  taken  Lookout;  already  they  were 
lapping  against  the  foot  of  Missionary.  Cleburne  held  the  hollow 
ground  on  the  right  of  Missionary,  near  the  tunnel  of  the  East 
Tennessee  and  Georgia  Railroad.  His  orders  were  to  hold  this  right 
at  all  hazards.  Cleburne  obeyed.  There  was  a  detached  ridge  which 
he  wished  to  gain  before  the  blue,  now  rapidly  advancing,  should 
gain  it.  He  sent  Smith's  Texas  brigade,  but  the  blue  had  greatly  the 
start.  When  the  Texans  reached  the  foot  of  the  ridge,  they  were 
fired  upon  from  the  top.  Smith,  turned  by  his  right  flank,  climbed 
Missionary  Ridge  and  took  position  upon  its  crest. 

Below,  in  the  hollow  ground  stretching  toward  the  Chickamauga, 
Cleburne  disposed  the  remainder  of  his  troops.  Hardee,  experi 
enced,  able,  stanch,  came  and  approved.  They  burned  a  bridge 


MISSIONARY    RIDGE  245 

across  the  Chickamauga.  Dark  was  now  at  hand.  The  fog  was 
disappearing,  but  the  flames  from  the  burning  bridge  had  a  curious, 
blurred,  yellow,  heatless  effect.  An  aide  came  up  with  news. 

"They've  overrun  Lookout,  sir.  Our  men  there  have  come  over 
to  Missionary." 

" What  loss?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir.  Some  one  said  they  came  like  driftwood.  I 
know  that  there's  a  flood  gaining  on  us." 

"Where  there's  a  flood,"  said  Cleburne,  " thank  the  Saints, 
there 's  usually  an  Ark !  Set  the  axes  to  work,  Major.  We  're  going 
to  run  a  breastwork  along  here." 

There  was  that  night  an  eclipse  of  the  moon.  The  men  who  were 
making  the  breastwork  stopped  their  work  when  the  blackness  be 
gan  to  steal  across.  They  watched  it  with  a  curious  look  upon  their 
lifted  faces.  "That  thar  moon,"  said  a  man,  —  "that  thar  moon  is 
the  Confederacy,  and  that  thar  thing  that 's  stealing  across  it  — 
that  thar  thing 's  the  End!" 

"That  ain't  the  kind  of  talk  — " 

"Yes,  it  is  the  kind  of  talk!  When  you've  come  to  the  End,  I 
want  to  know  it.  I  ain't  a-going  to  stop  building  breastworks  and 
I  ain't  a-going  to  stop  biting  cartridges,  but  I  want  to  know  it.  I 
want  .to  be  able  to  point  my  finger  and  say,  'Thar's  the  End.'" 

The  black  moved  farther  upon  the  silver  shield.  All  the  soldiers 
rested  on  their  axes  and  looked  upon  it.  "When  the  Confederacy 
ends  I  want  to  end,  too,  —  right  then  and  thar  and  hand  in  hand! 
But  the  Confederacy  ain't  going  to  end.  I  reckon  we've  given  it 
enough  blood  to  keep  it  going!" 

But  the  first  speaker  remained  a  pessimist.  "What  we  give  our 
blood  to  is  the  earth  and  the  sea.  We  don't  give  no  blood  to  the 
Confederacy.  The  Confederacy  ain't  gaining  blood;  she's  losing 
blood  —  drop  by  drop  out  of  every  vein.  She  lost  a  deal  at  Chicka 
mauga  and  she  's  going  to  lose  a  deal  — " 

"The  black  is  three  quarters  over.   God!  ain't  it  eerie?" 

"The  man  that  says  the  Confederacy  is  going  to  end  is  a  damned 
coward  and  traitor!  That  thing  up  there  ain't  nothing  but  a  passing 
shadow — " 

Cleburne  came  by.  "Too  dark  to  dig,  boys?  Never  mind! 
There  '11  be  light  enough  by  and  by." 


246  CEASE   FIRING 

The  black  veil  drew  across,  then  slowly  passed.  Cold  and  bright 
the  moon  looked  down.  Cleburne's  men  built  their  breastwork, 
then,  straightening  themselves,  wiped  with  the  back  of  their  hands 
the  sweat  from  their  brows.  Their  work  had  made  them  warm,  but 
now  was  felt  the  mortal  chill  of  the  hour  before  dawn.  The  woods 
began  to  sigh.  They  made  a  mysterious,  trembling  sound  beneath 
the  concave  of  the  sky.  The  sky  paled;  on  the  east  above  the  leaf 
less  trees  came  a  wash  of  purple,  desolate  and  withdrawn.  The 
November  day  broke  slowly.  There  was  a  mist.  It  rose  from  the 
streams,  it  hung  upon  bush  and  tree,  it  hid  enemy  from  enemy,  it 
almost  hid  friend  from  friend. 

With  the  light  came  skirmishing,  and  at  sunrise  the  batteries 
opened  from  the  ridge  the  blue  had  seized.  At  ten  o'clock  there  ar 
rived  the  Federal  advance  upon  this  front.  It  came  through  the  light 
mist,  in  two  long  lines  of  battle.  Its  bands  were  playing.  Davis's 
division,  three  divisions  of  Sherman's,  Eleventh  Corps  of  the  Army 
of  the  Potomac,  Sherman  commanding  all.  There  was  a  hill  near  the 
tunnel,  and  Cleburne  held  this  and  the  woodland  rolling  from  the 
right.  He  had  guns  in  position  above  the  tunnel  gaping  like  a  black 
mouth  in  the  hillside,  gaping  at  the  hurrahing  rush  of  Sherman's 
men. 

All  day  on  this  right  the  conflict  howled.  Hardee  and  Hardee's 
corps  were  cool  and  stanch;  Cleburne  was  a  trusted  man,  hilt  and 
blade.  Sherman  launched  his  thunderbolts,  blue  charge  after  blue 
charge;  " General  Pat"  flung  them  back.  The  sky  was  dark  with 
the  leaden  rain;  the  November  woods  rang;  Tunnel  Hill,  Swett's 
and  Key's  batteries,  flamed  through  the  murk;  Texas  and  Arkansas, 
Georgia  and  Tennessee,  grappled  with  Indiana,  Illinois,  Iowa,  Ohio. 
All  day,  to  and  fro,  in  the  leafless  woods,  under  the  chill  sky,  over 
a  rugged  ground,  they  swung  and  swayed.  Now  the  blue  seemed 
uppermost,  and  now  the  grey,  but  at  last  the  grey  charged  with 
bayonets.  After  this  the  blue  rested,  a  sullen  sea,  held  back  by 
Tunnel  Hill  and  all  the  grey-hued  slopes  around.  The  afternoon  was 
well  advanced,  the  smoke-draped  woods  dim  enough.  Cleburne's 
men  smiled,  nodding  their  heads.  "That  old  eclipse  wa'n't  nothing! 
This  Confederacy 's  immortal  —  Yes,  she  is !  She 's  got  a  wreath  of 
immortelles.  —  I'm  going  to  ask  General  Pat  if  she  hasn't!  You 
artillerymen  did  first-rate,  and  we  infantry  did  first-rate,  and  if  the 


MISSIONARY   RIDGE  247 

cavalry  had  n't  been  sent  away  I  reckon  they'd  have  done  as  well  as 
it  lies  in  cavalry  to  do.  —  Now,  if  the  centre  and  the  left  - 

A  courier  came  over  stock  and  stone,  pushing  a  foam-flecked 
horse  —  "  General  Cleburne!  —  Order  from  General  Hardee  —  " 

Cleburne  read:  "General:  Send  at  once  all  possible  troops  to  support 
centre.  It 's  much  in  danger" 

Cleburne  took  Cummings  and  Maney  and  with  them  set  face  to 
Missionary  Ridge.  A  little  way  through  the  darkening  wood  and 
a  gasping  aide  met  him  —  "From  General  Hardee,  sirl  They  've 
pierced  our  centre.  They  're  on  the  Ridge  —  they  've  overflowed 
Missionary  Ridge.  We're  all  cut  to  pieces  there  —  demoralized.  — 
General  Hardee  says,  form  a  line  so  as  to  meet  attack.  Do  the  best 
you  can  for  the  safety  of  the  right  wing  — 

Missionary  Ridge  rose  two  hundred  feet.  It  rose  steeply,  with  a 
narrow  plateau  a- top.  It  was  seamed  with  gullies,  shaggy  with  woods. 
In  places,  however,  the  wood  had  been  cleared,  leaving  the  stumps  of 
trees,  gaunt,  with  sere,  slippery  grass  between.  At  the  foot  of  the 
Ridge  were  grey  works,  and  now,  within  the  last  twenty-four  hours, 
the  grey  had  built  other  works  along  the  crest.  For  lack  of  entrench- 
ing-tools  and  of  time,  they  were  slight  enough  —  a  shallow  ditch,  a 
slight  breastwork,  dark  against  a  pallid  sky.  Here,  at  the  top  of 
Missionary,  and  there  at  the  foot,  were  gathered  the  Confederate 
centre,  together  with  the  troops  driven  yesterday  from  Lookout. 
Missionary  Ridge  was  like  a  crag,  rising  from  a  blue,  determined  sea. 

Officers  looked  at  the  lines.   "What  do  you  think  of  it  ?" 

"Bad." 

"Even  here  at  the  top  we  don't  command  all  approaches." 

"No.  Those  ravines  are  natural  covered  ways.  They  can  come 
close  and  our  guns  never  harm  them." 

"Do  you  understand  this  order  ?" 

"No.  I  don't— " 

"'Brigades  to  divide.  One  half  to  defend  the  foot  of  Missionary, 
one  half  to  remain  on  crest.  If  the  enemy  attacks  in  force,  fire  once' 
—  that  is,  the  force  at  the  foot  fire  once  — '  and  retire  to  the  works 
above—  '  H'mmm!" 

This  day  was  not  the  humid,  languid,  foggy  day  of  yesterday.  It 
was  cool  and  still,  but  the  sun  was  out.  The  Confederate  centre, 
high  on  Missionary,  saw  to-day  its  foe. 


248  CEASE   FIRING 

The  foe  was  massing,  massing,  on  level  and  rolling  ground  below. 
In  the  amber  air  it  could  be  plainly  seen.  It  was  in  two  vast  lines  of 
battle,  with  large  reserves  in  the  background,  and  hovering  skir 
mishers  before.  The  grey,  watching,  estimated  its  front,  from  wing  to 
wing,  as  two  and  a  half  miles.  Being  formed,  it  advanced  a  mile  and 
stood.  Now  it  could  be  seen  with  extreme  plainness,  a  blue  sea  just 
below.  It  had,  as  always,  many  bands  and  much  music.  These 
made  the  air  throb.  At  intervals,  like  blossoms  in  a  giant's  garden, 
swayed  the  flags.  The  crest  of  Missionary  watched. 

"They're  the  boys  for  an  imposing  advance!" 

"How  many  d'  ye  suppose  they've  got  ?" 

"Don't  know.  Don't  know  about  Ulysses.  Xerxes  had  a  million." 

"Hope  they're  all  there.  Hope  they  are  n't  trying  any  flank  and 
rear  foolishness." 

"Hope  not,  but  I  would  n't  swear  to  it!  I've  got  a  distrust  of 
Grant  —  though  it  may  not  be  well  founded,  as  the  storekeeper  said 
when  the  clerk  and  the  till  were  found  on  the  same  train." 

"  Wish  there  was  water  up  here  on  Sinai !  My  mouth 's  awful  dry." 

A  man  spat.  "  It 's  curious  how  many  this  morning  I  've  heard  say 
their  mouth  was  awful  dry  and  they  felt  a  little  dizzy  — " 

"It's  the  altitude." 

"  Six  hundred  feet  ?  No.  It 's  something  else.  I  don't  know  just 
what  it  is— " 

Voices  died.  There  fell  a  quiet  as  before  a  thunderstorm,  an 
oppressive  quiet.  Missionary  Ridge,  its  brows  faintly  drawn  and 
raised,  looked  forth  upon  the  sea.  The  sea  stood  broodingly  quiet, 
without  music  now,  the  coloured  blossoms  still  upon  their  stems.  It 
held  and  held,  the  quietude. 

Far  off  a  dozen  cannon  boomed  —  Sherman's  sullen  last  attack 
upon  Cleburne.  The  grey  ridge,  the  blue  sea,  bent  heads  to  one 
side,  listening.  The  far-off  iron  voices  ceased  to  speak.  Silence  fell 
again.  Up  on  Missionary  a  lieutenant  drew  his  hand  across  his 
forehead.  When  it  fell  again  to  the  sword  hilt  the  palm  was  wet  with 
sweat,  the  back  was  wet.  The  lieutenant  was  conscious  of  a  slight 
nausea.  There  was  a  drumming,  too,  in  his  ears.  He  took  himself  to 
task.  "This  will  never  do,"  he  said;  "this  will  never  do  — "  Sud 
denly  he  thought,  "The  men  are  looking  at  me"  —  and  stood  up 
very  straight,  smiling  stiffly. 


MISSIONARY   RIDGE  249 

Off  on  the  horizon  three  cannon  spoke,  one  after  the  other,  with 
the  effect  of  a  signal.  The  sound  died  into  silence  —  there  followed  a 
moment  of  held  breath  —  the  storm  broke. 

All  the  great  blue  guns  —  and  they  were  many  —  opened  upon 
the  grey  centre.  There  burst  a  howling,  a  shrieking,  a  whistling  of 
artillery.  The  sky  grew  suddenly  dark.  From  Missionary  the  grey 
answered,  but  it  was  a  far  lesser  storm  that  they  could  launch.  So 
much  the  lesser  storm  it  was  that  it  may  be  said  that  Missionary 
early  saw  its  fate,  towering,  resistless,  close.  The  sea  lifted  itself, 
moving  forward  like  a  spring  tide  while  the  cannon  shook  the  firma 
ment.  It  moved  so  close  that  the  face  of  it  was  seen,  it  moved  so 
close  that  the  eyes  of  it  were  seen.  It  came  like  the  tide  that  drags 
under  the  rocks. 

Then  was  shown  the  fatalness  of  that  order.  All  the  grey  troops 
at  the  foot  of  Missionary  fired  with  precision,  one  point-blank  volley 
in  the  face  of  the  sea.  //  they  advance  in  force,  fire  once  and  fall  back  — 
//  they  advance  in  force,  fire  once  and  fall  back. 

Only  officers,  and  not  all  the  officers,  knew  that  the  order  was  of 
hours'  standing.  As  for  the  men,  they  only  saw  that  after  one  volley 
they  were  in  retreat.  The  lines  above  only  saw  that  after  one  volley 
the  lines  below  were  in  retreat.  Over  Missionary  ran  something 
like  the  creeping  of  flesh  at  midnight  when  the  nightmare  is  felt  in 
the  room.  The  grey  troops  of  the  lower  line  began  to  climb.  Before 
them  rose  the  scarped  earth,  boulder-strewn,  seamed  and  scarred, 
here  with  standing  wood,  here  with  crops  of  tree-stumps  like  dark 
mushrooms.  Behind  them  was  the  dark  blue  shouting  sea,  and  all 
the  air  was  mere  battle-smoke  and  thunder.  The  artillery  echoed 
frightfully.  It  was  as  though  the  mountains  of  the  region  were  con 
voluted  walls  of  a  vast  shell.  The  vibrations  were  flung  from  one 
wall  to  another;  they  never  passed  out  of  that  wildly  disturbed,  hol 
low  chamber.  So  loud  were  the  cracks  of  sound,  so  steady  the  hum 
ming,  that  orders,  right  or  wrong,  that  encouraging  shouts  of  officers, 
were  not  well  heard.  In  the  tormenting  roar,  with  the  knowledge 
of  the  lost  left,  in  ignorance  of  Cleburne's  dogged  stand  on  the  right, 
with  a  conception,  like  a  darting  spark  in  the  brain,  of  the  isolation 
of  Missionary,  of  fewness  of  numbers,  of  a  lack  here  of  leadership, 
with  a  feeling  of  impotence,  with  a  feeling  of  dread,  the  grey  lower 
lines  began  to  climb  Missionary  to  the  upper  lines.  At  first  they 


250  CEASE  FIRING 

went  steadily,  in  fair  order.  .  .  .  The  surges  of  sound  and  light 
filled  the  universe.  A  sudden  message  rocked  through  every  brain. 
They  're  coming  after  us,  over  the  breastworks  !  Instantaneously  the 
waves  of  light  passed  into  waves  of  darkness.  With  a  shriek  as  of  a 
million  minies  came  panic  Fear. 

On  the  slopes  of  Missionary  there  was  now  no  order.  It  was 
same  qui  pent.  The  blue  tide  overswept  the  breastworks  and  came 
on,  and  the  grey  fled  before  it. 

In  this  war  it  had  come  to  the  grey,  as  it  had  come  to  the  blue,  to 
retreat,  to  retreat  hastily  and  in  confusion,  to  retreat  disordered. 
The  grey,  as  the  blue,  had  some  acquaintance  with  Panic,  had 
occasionally  met  her  in  the  road.  But  to-day  Panic  meant  not  to 
stop  at  a  bowing  acquaintance.  She  aimed  at  a  closer  union  and  she 
attained  her  end.  Each  man  there  felt  her  bony  clutch  upon  his 
throat  and  her  arms  like  a  Nessus  shirt  about  his  body.  .  .  . 

Up  —  up  —  up !  and  the  dark  tree-stumps  got  always  in  the  way. 
Men  stumbled  and  fell ;  rose  and  went  blindly  on  again  —  save  those 
whom  the  black  hail  from  the  guns  had  cut  down  forever.  These 
lay  stark  or  writhing  among  the  stumps.  Their  pale  fellows  went  by 
them,  gasping,  fleet-footed.  Up  —  up  —  up ! 

The  troops  upon  the  crest,  white-faced,  tight-lipped,  at  last  re 
ceived  the  lower  line,  staggering  figures  rising  through  the  murk. 
Officers  were  here,  officers  were  there,  hoarse-voiced,  beseeching. 
There  came  at  the  top  a  wraithlike  order  out  of  chaos;  there  was 
achieved  a  skeleton  formation.  But  many  of  the  men  had  rushed 
below  the  Ridge,  stumbling  down  into  the  protecting  forest,  their 
hands  to  their  heads.  Others  fell  upon  the  earth  and  vomited.  Many 
were  wounded,  and  now,  memory  returning  where  they  lay  sunk 
together  on  the  level  ground,  they  began  to  cry  out.  All  were  as 
ghastly  pale  as  bronze  could  turn,  from  all  streamed  the  sweat. 
When  they  staggered  into  line,  as  many,  Panic  to  the  contrary, 
did  stagger,  their  hands  shook  like  leaves  in  storm.  For  minutes 
they  could  not  duly  handle  their  pieces.  To  the  line  a-top  of  Mis 
sionary,  the  line  looking  down  upon  the  mounting  tide,  they  were 
as  an  infectious  disease.  It  was  horrible  to  see  Terror  and  the 
effect  of  Terror;  it  was  horrible  to  feel  finger-tips  brushing  the 
throat. 

In  the  mean  time  the  tide  mounted.  It  had  no  orders  to  mount. 


MISSIONARY   RIDGE  251 

It  was  expected,  when  the  lower  line  was  taken,  that  it  would  wait 
for  some  next  indicated  move.  But  always  the  higher  grey  line  was 
raining  fire  upon  it,  the  grey  batteries  were  spouting  death.  It  be 
came  manifest  that  the  road  of  safety  was  up  Missionary.  On  its 
top  grew  the  nettle  Danger  from  which  only  might  be  plucked  the 
flower  Safety.  The  blue  kept  on  because  that  was  the  best  thing  and 
only  thing  to  do.  Moreover,  they  soon  found  that  the  gullies  and 
miniature  ridges  of  Missionary  afforded  protection.  The  whole  vast 
wave  divided  into  six  parties  of  attack,  and  so  came  up  the  face  of 
Missionary. 

"Who,"  asked  Grant  from  the  eminence  where  he  stood,  - 
"who  ordered  those  men  up  the  hill  ?" 

He  spoke  curtly,  anger  in  his  voice.  "  Some  one  will  suffer  for  it," 
he  said,  "if  it  turns  out  badly." 

But,  for  the  blue,  it  did  not  turn  out  badly.  .  .  . 

When  the  thunder  and  shouting  was  all  over,  when  the  short 
desperate  melee  was  ended,  when  the  guns  were  silenced  and  taken, 
when  the  blue  wave  had  triumphed  on  the  height  of  Missionary, 
and  the  grey  had  fallen  backward  and  down,  when  the  pursuit  was 
checked,  when  the  broken  grey  army  rested  in  the  November  forest, 
when  the  day  closed  sombrely  with  one  red  gleam  in  the  west,  three 
soldiers,  having  scraped  together  dead  leaves  and  twigs  and  lit  a 
fire,  nodded  at  one  another  across  the  blaze. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you,"  said  one,  "that  that  thar  moon  was  the 
Confederacy  and  that  that  thar  thing  stealing  across  it  was  the 
End?" 

"And  didn't  I  tell  you,"  said  the  second,  "that  thar  don't 
nothing  end  ?  Ef  a  thing  has  been,  it  Is." 

"Well,  I  reckon  you'll  allow,"  spoke  the  third,  "that  we've  had 
an  awful  defeat  this  day  ?  " 

"A  lot  of  wise  men,"  said  the  second,  "have  lived  on  this  here 
earth,  but  the  man  that's  wise  enough  to  tell  what's  defeat  and 
what  is  n't  has  n't  yet  appeared.  However,  I  '11  allow  that  it  looks 
like  defeat." 

"Wouldn't  you  call  it  defeat  if  every  army  of  us  surrendered, 
and  they  took  down  the  Stars  and  Bars  from  over  the  Capitol  at 
Richmond?" 

"Well,  that  depends,"  said  the  second.  "Got  any  tobacco  ?" 


252  CEASE  FIRING 

That  same  night  Bragg  crossed  the  Chickamauga,  burning  the 
bridges  behind  him.  The  Army  of  Tennessee  fell  back  to  Ringgold, 
then  to  Dal  ton.  While  at  this  place,  Bragg,  at  his  own  request,  was 
relieved  from  command.  The  Army  of  Tennessee  came  into  the 
hands  of  Joseph  E.  Johnston. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

DALTON 

ON  the  twelfth  of  March,  1864,  Ulysses  S.  Grant  was  placed 
in  command  of  all  the  Federal  armies,  and  on  the  twenty- 
sixth  joined  the  army  in  Virginia.  He  says :  — 

"When  I  assumed  command  of  all  the  armies,  the  situation  was 
about  this:  the  Mississippi  was  guarded  from  St.  Louis  to  its  mouth; 
the  line  of  the  Arkansas  was  held,  thus  giving  us  all  the  Northwest 
north  of  that  river.  A  few  points  in  Louisiana,  not  remote  from  the 
river,  were  held  by  the  Federal  troops,  as  was  also  the  mouth  of  the 
Rio  Grande.  East  of  the  Mississippi  we  held  substantially  all  north 
of  the  Memphis  and  Charleston  railroad  as  far  east  as  Chattanooga, 
thence  along  the  line  of  the  Tennessee  and  Holston  Rivers,  taking  in 
nearly  all  of  the  State  of  Tennessee.  West  Virginia  was  in  our  hands, 
and  also  that  part  of  old  Virginia  north  of  the  Rapidan  and  east  of 
the  Blue  Ridge.  On  the  seacoast  we  had  Fort  Monroe  and  Norfolk, 
in  Virginia;  Plymouth,  Washington,  and  New  Berne,  in  North 
Carolina;  Beaufort,  Folly  and  Morris  Islands,  Hilton  Head  and 
Port  Royal,  in  South  Carolina,  and  Fort  Pulaski,  in  Georgia;  Fer- 
nandina,  St.  Augustine,  Key  West,  and  Pensacola,  in  Florida.  The 
remainder  of  the  Southern  territory,  an  empire  in  extent,  was  still  in 
the  hands  of  the  enemy. 

"  Sherman,  who  had  succeeded  me  in  the  command  of  the  Mil 
itary  Division  of  the  Mississippi,  commanded  all  the  troops  in  the 
territory  west  of  the  Alleghanies  and  north  of  Natchez,  with  a  large 
movable  force  about  Chattanooga.  ...  In  the  East,  the  opposing 
forces  stood  in  substantially  the  same  relations  toward  each  other  as 
three  years  before  or  when  the  war  began;  they  were" both  between 
the  Federal  and  Confederate  capitals.  .  .  .  My  general  plan  now 
was  to  concentrate  all  the  force  possible  against  the  Confederate 
armies  in  the  field.  There  were  but  two  such  .  .  .  east  of  the 
Mississippi  River  and  facing  north ;  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia, 
General  Robert  E.  Lee  commanding,  was  on  the  south  bank  of 


254  CEASE  FIRING 

the  Rapidan,  confronting  the  Army  of  the  Potomac;  the  second, 
under  General  Joseph  E.  Johnston,  was  at  Dalton,  Georgia,  opposed 
to  Sherman,  who  was  still  at  Chattanooga.  Besides  these  main  arm 
ies  the  Confederates  had  to  guard  the  Shenandoah  Valley  —  a  great 
storehouse  to  feed  their  armies  from  —  and  their  line  of  communi 
cations  from  Richmond  to  Tennessee.  Forrest,  a  brave  and  intrepid 
cavalry  general,  was  in  the  West  with  a  large  force,  making  a  larger 
command  necessary  to  hold  what  we  had  gained  in  Middle  and 
West  Tennessee.  ...  I  arranged  for  a  simultaneous  movement,  all 
along  the  line." 

"On  the  historic  fourth  day  of  May,  1864,"  says  General  William 
T.  Sherman,  "the  Confederate  army  at  my  front  lay  at  Dalton, 
Georgia,  composed,  according  to  the  best  authority,  of  about  forty- 
five  thousand  men,  commanded  by  Joseph  E.  Johnston,  who  was 
equal  in  all  the  elements  of  generalship  to  Lee,  and  who  was  under 
instructions  from  the  war  powers  in  Richmond  to  assume  the  offen 
sive  northward  as  far  as  Nashville.  But  he  soon  discovered  that  he 
would  have  to  conduct  a  defensive  campaign.  Coincident  with  the 
movement  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  as  announced  by  telegraph, 
I  advanced  from  our  base  at  Chattanooga  with  the  Army  of  the 
Ohio,  13,559  men;  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland,  60,773;  and  tne 
Army  of  the  Tennessee,  24,465  —  grand  total,  98,797  men  and  254 
guns." 

Johnston  took  command  at  Dalton  in  December  and  spent  the 
winter  bringing  back  efficiency  to  the  shaken  Army  of  Tennessee. 
In  his  account  of  the  following  campaign,  he  says:  "An  active 
campaign  of  six  months,  half  of  it  in  the  rugged  region  between 
Chattanooga  and  Dalton,  had  so  much  reduced  the  condition  of  the 
horses  of  the  cavalry  and  artillery,  as  well  as  of  the  mules  of  the 
wagon-trains,  that  most  of  them  were  unfit  for  active  service.  .  .  . 
In  the  course  of  an  inspection,  and  as  soon  as  practicable,  I  found 
the  condition  of  the  army  much  less  satisfactory  than  it  had  ap 
peared  to  the  President  on  the  twenty-third  of  December.  There 
was  a  great  deficiency  of  blankets ;  and  it  was  painful  to  see  the  num 
ber  of  bare  feet  in  every  regiment.  .  .  .  There  was  a  deficiency  in  the 
infantry,  of  six  thousand  small  arms.  .  .  .  The  time  of  winter  was 
employed  mainly  in  improving  the  discipline  and  instruction  of  the 
troops  and  in  attention  to  their  comfort.  Before  the  end  of  April 


D  ALTON  255 

more  than  five  thousand  absentees  had  been  brought  back  to  their 
regiments.  Military  operations  were  confined  generally  to  skir 
mishing  between  little  scouting  parties  of  cavalry  of  our  army  with 
pickets  of  the  other.  .  .  .  The  effective  strength  of  the  Army  of 
Tennessee,  as  shown  by  the  return  of  May  first,  1864,  was  37,652 
infantry;  2812  artillery,  and  2392  cavalry.  ...  On  the  fifth,  the 
Confederate  troops  were  formed  to  receive  the  enemy.  .  .  .  My 
own  operations,  then  and  subsequently,  were  determined  by  the 
relative  forces  of  the  armies,  and  a  higher  estimate  of  the  Northern 
soldiers  than  our  Southern  editors  and  politicians,  or  even  the  Ad 
ministration,  seemed  to  entertain.  This  opinion  had  been  formed  in 
much  service  with  them  against  Indians,  and  four  or  five  battles  in 
Mexico  —  such  actions,  at  least,  as  were  then  called  battles.  Observ 
ation  of  almost  twenty  years  of  service  of  this  sort  had  impressed 
on  my  mind  the  belief  that  the  soldiers  of  the  Regular  Army  of  the 
United  States  were  equal  in  fighting  qualities  to  any  that  had  been 
found  in  the  wars  of  Great  Britain  and  France.  General  Sherman's 
troops,  with  whom  we  were  contending,  had  received  a  longer  train 
ing  in  war.  than  any  of  those  with  whom  I  had  served  in  former  times. 
It  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  such  troops,  under  a  sagacious  and 
resolute  leader,  and  covered  by  entrenchments,  were  to  be  beaten  by 
greatly  inferior  numbers.  I  therefore  thought  it  our  policy  to  stand 
on  the  defensive,  to  spare  the  blood  of  our  soldiers  by  fighting  under 
cover  habitually,  and  to  attack  only  when  bad  position  or  division 
of  the  enemy's  forces  might  give  us  advantages  counterbalancing 
that  of  superior  numbers.  So  we  held  every  position  occupied  until 
our  communications  were  strongly  threatened;  then  fell  back  only 
far  enough  to  secure  them,  watching  for  opportunities  to  attack, 
keeping  near  enough  to  the  Federal  army  to  assure  the  Confederate 
Administration  that  Sherman  could  not  send  reinforcements  to 
Grant,  and  hoping  to  reduce  the  odds  against  us  by  partial  engage 
ments."  And  later,  of  the  situation  in  July  before  Atlanta:  "The 
troops  themselves,  who  had  been  seventy-four  days  in  the  immediate 
presence  of  the  enemy,  labouring  and  fighting  daily,  enduring  toil 
and  encountering  danger  with  equal  cheerfulness,  more  confident 
and  high-spirited  even  than  when  the  Federal  army  presented  itself 
before  them  at  Dal  ton,  and  though  I  say  it,  full  of  devotion  to  him 
who  had  commanded  them,  and  belief  of  ultimate  success  in  the 


256  CEASE  FIRING 

campaign,  were  then  inferior  to  none  who  ever  served  the  Con 
federacy  or  fought  on  this  continent." 

And  again,  toward  the  elucidation  of  this  campaign,  General 
Sherman  speaks:  "I  had  no  purpose  to  attack  Johnston's  position 
at  Dalton  in  front,  but  marched  from  Chattanooga  to  feign  at  his 
front  and  to  make  a  lodgment  in  Resaca,  eighteen  miles  to  'his  rear, 
on  his  line  of  communication  and  supply.  This  movement  was 
partly  but  not  wholly  successful ;  but  it  compelled  Johnston  to  let  go 
at  Dalton  and  fight  us  at  Resaca,  where,  May  thirteenth  to  six 
teenth,  our  loss  was  2747  and  his  2800.  I  fought  offensively  and  he 
defensively,  aided  by  earth  parapets.  He  fell  back  to  Calhoun, 
Adairsville,  and  Cassville.  ...  I  resolved  to  push  on  toward 
Atlanta  by  way  of  Dallas.  Johnston  quickly  detected  this,  and 
forced  me  to  fight  him,  May  twenty-fifth  to  twenty-eighth,  at  New 
Hope  Church,  four  miles  north  of  Dallas.  .  .  .  The  country  was 
almost  in  a  state  of  nature  —  with  few  or  no  roads,  nothing  that 
an  European  could  understand.  .  .  .  He  fell  back  to  his  position 
at  Marietta,  with  Brush  Mountain  on  his  right,  Kenesaw  his  centre, 
and  Lost  Mountain  his  left.  His  line  of  ten  miles  was  too  long  for 
his  numbers,  and  he  soon  let  go  his  flanks  and  concentrated  on 
Kenesaw.  We  closed  down  in  battle  array,  repaired  the  railroad 
up  to  our  very  camps,  and  then  prepared  for  the  contest.  Not  a 
day,  not  an  hour,  not  a  minute,  was  there  a  cessation  of  fire.  Our 
skirmishers  were  in  absolute  contact,  the  lines  of  battle  and  the 
batteries  but  little  in  rear  of  the  skirmishers,  and  thus  matters 
continued  until  June  twenty-seventh,  when  I  ordered  a  general 
assault  .  .  .  but  we  failed,  losing  3000  men  to  the  Confederate  loss 
of  630.  Still  the  result  was  that  within  three  days  Johnston  aban 
doned  the  strongest  possible  position  and  was  in  full  retreat  for  the 
Chattahoochee  River.  We  were  on  his  heels;  skirmished  with  his 
rear  at  Smyrna  Church  on  the  fourth  day  of  July,  and  saw  him 
fairly  across  the  Chattahoochee  on  the  tenth,  covered  and  protected 
by  the  best  line  of  field  entrenchments  I  have  ever  seen,  prepared 
long  in  advance.  No  officer  or  soldier  who  ever  served  under  me 
will  question  the  generalship  of  Joseph  E.  Johnston.  .  .  .  We  had 
advanced  into  the  enemy's  country  one  hundred  and  twenty  miles, 
with  a  single-track  railroad,  which  had  to  bring  clothing,  food, 
ammunition,  everything  requisite  for  100,000  men  and  23,000  ani- 


DALTON  257 

mals.  The  city  of  Atlanta,  the  gate  city  opening  the  interior  of  the 
important  State  of  Georgia,  was  in  sight;  its  protecting  army  was 
shaken  but  not  defeated,  and  onward  we  had  to  go.  ...  We 
feigned  to  the  right,  but  crossed  the  Chattahoochee  by  the  left, 
and  soon  confronted  our  enemy  behind  his  first  line  of  entrench 
ments  at  Peach  Tree  Creek,  prepared  in  advance  for  this  very  occa 
sion.  At  this  critical  moment  the  Confederate  Government  ren 
dered  us  most  valuable  service.  Being  dissatisfied  with  the  Fabian 
policy  of  General  Johnston,  it  relieved  him  and  General  Hood  was 
substituted  to  command  the  Confederate  army.  Hood  was  known 
to  us  to  be  a  'fighter.'  .  .  .  The  character  of  a  leader  is  a  large  fac 
tor  in  the  game  of  war,  and  I  confess  I  was  pleased  at  this  change." 

But  in  the  early  Georgian  spring,  pale  emeralds  and  the  purple 
mist  of  the  Judas  tree,  July  and  that  change  were  far  away.  The 
Army  of  Tennessee,  encamped  in  and  around  Dalton,  only  knew 
that  "Old  Joe"  was  day  by  day  putting  iron  in  its  veins  and  shoes 
upon  its  feet;  that  the  commissariat  was  steadily  improving;  that 
the  men's  cheeks  were  filling  out;  that  the  horses  were  growing  less 
woe-begone;  that  camp  was  cheerful  and  clean,  that  officers  were 
affable,  chaplains  fatherly,  and  surgeons  benevolent ;  that  the 
bands  had  suddenly  plucked  up  heart;  that  the  drills,  though  long, 
were  not  too  long ;  that  if  the  morale  of  the  Army  of  Tennessee  had 
been  shaken  at  Missionary  Ridge,  it  had  now  returned,  and  that 
it  felt  like  cheering  and  did  cheer  "Old  Joe"  whenever  he  appeared. 
Men  who  had  been  wounded  and  were  now  well;  men  who  had  been 
on  furlough,  men  who  had  somehow  been  just  "missing, "came  in 
steadily.  Small  detachments  of  troops  appeared,  also,  arriving  from 
Canton,  Mississippi,  and  from  northern  Alabama.  The  Army  of 
Tennessee  grew  to  feel  whole  again  —  whole,  bronzed,  lean,  deter 
mined,  and  hopeful. 

From  northern  Alabama  came  in  March  the th  Virginia.  For 

the th  Virginia  there  had  been  the  siege  of  Vicksburg  and  the 

surrender;  then  the  long  slow  weeks  at  Enterprise,  where  the  Vicks 
burg  men  were  reorganized;  then  service  with  Loring  in  northern 
Mississippi;  then  duty  in  Alabama.  Now  in  the  soft  spring  weather 
it  came  to  Dalton  and  the  Army  of  Tennessee. 

The  village  was  filled  with  soldiers.  The  surrounding  valley  was 


258  CEASE   FIRING 

filled  with  soldiers.  From  the  valley,  rude  hills,  only  partially 
cleared,  ran  back  to  unbroken  woods.  There  was  Crow  Valley  and 
Sugar  Valley,  Rocky  Face  Mountain,  Buzzard  Roost  and  Mill 
Creek  Gap,  and  many  another  pioneer-named  locality.  And  in  all 
directions  there  were  camps  of  soldiers.  Sometimes  these  boasted 
tents,  but  oftenest  they  showed  clusters  or  streets  of  rude,  ingenious 
huts,  brown  structures  of  bark  and  bough,  above,  between,  and  be 
hind  them  foliage  and  bloom  of  the  immemorial  forest.  Officers  had 
log  cabins,  very  neatly  kept,  with  curls  of  blue  smoke  coming  out  of 
the  mud  chimneys.  Headquarters  was  in  the  village,  a  white  house 
with  double  porch,  before  it  headquarters  flag,  and  always  a  trim 
coming  and  going.  At  intervals  the  weary  and  worn  engines,  fed  by 
wood,  rarely  repaired,  brought  over  an  unmended  road  a  train  of 
dilapidated  cars  and  in  them  forage,  munitions,  handfuls  of  troops. 
But  in  the  increasing  confidence  at  Dalton,  in  the  general  invigora- 
tion  and  building-up,  the  tonic  air,  the  running  of  the  sap,  the  smil 
ing  of  the  world,  even  the  East  Tennessee,  Virginia,  and  Georgia, 
and  the  Western  and  Atlantic,  roadbed  and  rolling-stock  and  force 
of  men,  took  on,  as  it  were,  an  air  of  lively  instead  of  grim  deter 
mination.  Outside  of  the  town  was  the  parade  ground.  Drill  and 
music,  music  and  drill,  and  once  or  twice  a  great  review!  Here  came 
Johnston  himself,  erect,  military,  grey-mustached,  with  a  quiet  ex 
terior  and  an  affectionate  heart,  able  and  proud.  With  him  rode  his 
staff.  Staff  more  than  worshipped  Johnston;  it  loved  him.  Here, 
too,  came  the  lieutenant-  and  major-generals  —  Hardee,  one  of  the 
best  — and  Hood  the  "  fighter,"  well-liked  by  the  President  — 
Patrick  Cleburne  and  Cheatham  and  Stewart  and  Carter  Stevenson 
and  Walker,  and  many  another  good  leader  and  true.  Here  the 
artillery,  reorganized,  was  put  through  manoeuvres,  and  Joe  Wheel 
er's  cavalry  trotted  across,  and  in  the  morning  light  the  bugles 
blew.  It  was  a  lovely  Southern  spring,  with  soft  airs,  with  dogwood 
stars  and  flame-coloured  azalea,  with  the  fragrance  of  the  grape  and 
the  yellow  jessamine,  with  the  song  of  many  a  bright  bird,  build 
ing  in  the  wood.  The  Army  of  Tennessee,  strong  at  Chickamauga, 
fallen  ill  at  Missionary  Ridge,  convalescent  through  the  winter,  was 
now  in  health  again. 

There  was  a  small  house,  half  hidden  behind  two  huge  syringa 
bushes.  It  had  a  bit  of  lawn  no  bigger  than  a  handkerchief,  and 


DALTON  259 

the  bridal  wreath  and  columbines  and  white  phlox  that  bordered  it 
made  the  handkerchief  a  lace  one.  Here  lived  Miss  Sophia  and 
Miss  Amanda,  gentlewomen  who  had  seen  better  days,  and  here 
"  boarded,"  while  the  army  was  at  Dalton,  Desiree  Gary. 

Miss  Sophia  designed  and  carried  out  wonderful  bouquets  of  wax 
flowers.  Miss  Amanda  was  famed  for  her  bead  bags  and  for  the  mar 
vellous  fineness  of  her  embroidery.  Miss  Sophia  was  a  master-hand 
at  watermelon  rind  "sweetmeats,"  carving  them  into  a  hundred 
pretty  shapes.  Miss  Amanda  was  as  accomplished  in  "icing "  cakes. 
Sweetmeats  and  wedding  and  Christmas  cakes,  embroidery,  and  an 
occasional  order  of  wax  flowers  had  for  years  "helped  them  along." 
Long  visits,  too,  after  the  lavish,  boundless  Southern  fashion,  to  kins 
folk  in  South  Georgia  had  done  much;  —  but  now  there  was  war,  and 
the  kinsfolk  were  poor  themselves,  and  nowhere  in  the  wide  world 
was  there  a  market  for  wax  flowers,  and  there  was  no  sugar  for  the 
sweetmeats,  and  no  frosted  cakes,  and  life  was  of  the  whole  stuff 
without  embroidery!  War  frightfully  snatched  their  occupation 
away.  As  long  as  they  could  visit,  they  visited,  and  they  valiantly 
carded  lint  and  knit  socks  and  packed  and  sent  away  supplies  and 
helped  to  devise  substitutes  for  coffee  and  tea  and  recipes  for  Con 
federate  dishes.  But  kinsmen  had  died  on  the  field  of  battle,  and 
kinswomen  had  grown  poorer  and  poorer.  One  had  made  her  way  to 
Virginia  where  her  boy  was  in  hospital,  and  another  had  gone  to 
Savannah,  and  another's  house  had  been  burned.  Miss  Sophia  and 
Miss  Amanda  had  retired  up-country  to  this  extremely  small  house 
which  they  owned.  Beside  it  and  its  furniture  they  apparently  owned 
nothing  else.  Even  the  stout,  sleepy  negro  woman  in  the  kitchen 
was  a  loan  from  the  last  visited  plantation.  Desiree,  applying  for 
board,  was  manna  in  the  wilderness.  They  took  her  —  with  faintly 
flushed  cheeks  and  many  apologies  for  charging  at  all  —  for  fifty 
dollars  a  week,  Confederate  money.  She  had  a  bare  white  room 
with  a  sloping  roof  and  a  climbing  rose.  There  was  a  porch  to  the 
house,  all  bowered  in  with  clematis  and  honeysuckle.  Miss  Sophia 
and  Miss  Amanda  rarely  sat  on  the  porch ;  they  sat  in  the  parlour, 
where  there  were  the  wax  flowers  and  a  wonderful  sampler  and  an 
old  piano,  and,  on  either  side  the  fireplace,  a  pink  conch  shell.  So 
Desiree  had  the  porch  and  the  springtime  out  of  doors. 

Captain  Edward  Gary's  beautiful  wife  made  friends  quickly. 


260  CEASE  FIRING 

Officers  and  men,  the th  Virginia  had  now  for  months  rested  her 

bound  slave.  It  was  not  long  before  that  portion  of  the  Army  of 
Tennessee  that  had  occasion  from  day  to  day  to  pass  the  house 
began  to  look  with  eagerness  for  the  smiling  eyes  and  lips  of 
Desiree  Gaillard.  Sometimes  she  was  out  in  the  sunshine,  gravely 
pondering  the  lace  border  of  the  handkerchief.  Army  of  Tennessee 
lifted  hat  or  cap;  she  smiled  and  nodded;  Army  of  Tennessee  went 
on  through  brighter  sunshine.  She  was  presently  the  friend  of  all. 
After  a  while  Johnston  himself,  when  he  rode  that  way,  would  stop 
and  talk;  Hardee  and  .Cleburne  and  others  often  sat  beneath  the 
purple  clematis  and,  sword  on  knees,  talked  of  this  or  that.  They 
sent  her  little  offerings  —  small  packets  of  coffee  or  of  sugar,  once 
a  gift  of  wine,  gifts  which  she  promptly  turned  over  to  the  hospital. 
If  they  had  nothing  else,  they  brought  her,  when  they  rode  in  from 
inspection  of  the  scattered  camps,  wild  flowers  and  branches  of 
blossoming  trees. 

Edward  came  to  her  when  it  was  possible.   The th  Virginia 

was  encamped  among  the  hills.  Often  at  dusk  he  found  her  at  the 
gate,  her  eyes  upon  the  last  soft  bloom  of  the  day.  Or,  if  she  knew 
that  he  was  coming,  she  walked  out  upon  the  road  toward  the  hills. 
The  road  was  a  place  of  constant  travel.  Endlessly  it  unrolled  a 
pageant  of  the  times.  War's  varied  movement  was  here,  the  multi 
plicity  of  it  all;  and  also  the  unity  as  of  the  sound  of  the  sea,  or 
the  waving  of  grass  on  a  prairie.  Troops,  incoming  or  outgoing,  — 
infantry,  artillery,  cavalry,  —  were  to  be  found  upon  it.  The  com 
missariat  Vent  up  and  down  with  white-covered  wagons.  Foragers 
appeared,  coming  in  to  camp  with  heterogeneous  matters.  Ordnance 
wagons,  heavy  and  huge,  went  by  with  a  leaden  sound.  Mules  and 
negroes  abounded  —  laughter,  adjuration,  scraps  of  song.  Then 
came  engineers,  layers-out  of  defences  and  the  clay-plastered  work 
ers  upon  them.  Country  people  passed  —  an  old  carryall  filled 
with  children  —  a  woman  in  a  long  riding-skirt  and  calico  sun- 
bonnet  riding  a  white  horse,  gaunt  as  death's  own  —  sickly  looking 
men  afoot  —  small  boys,  greybeards,  old,  old  negroes  hobbling  with 
a  stick  —  then,  rumbling  in  or  out,  a  battery,  the  four  guns  very 
bright,  the  horses  knowing  what  they  drew,  breathing,  for  all  their 
steadiness,  a  faint  cloud  of  brimstone  and  sulphur,  the  spare  artil 
lerymen  alongside  or  seated  on  caissons  —  then  perhaps  cavalry, 


DALTON  261 

man  and  horse  cut  in  one  like  a  chesspiece  —  then  a  general  officer 
with  his  staff  —  couriers,  infantry,  more  foragers,  a  chaplain  bound 
for  some  service  under  the  trees,  guard  details,  ambulances,  more 
artillery,  more  cavalry,  commissariat,  "Grand  Rounds,"  more 
infantry.  .  .  .  Desiree  loved  the  road  and  walked  upon  it  when 
she  liked.  She  grew  a  known  figure,  standing  aside  beneath  a 
flowering  tree  to  let  the  guns  go  by,  or  the  heavy  wagons;  moving, 
slender  and  fine,  upon  the  trampled  verge  of  the  road,  ready  with  a 
friendly  nod,  a  smile,  a  word  —  a  beautiful  woman  walking  as  safely 
upon  a  military  road  as  in  a  hedged  garden.  The  road  loved  to  see 
her;  she  was  like  a  glowing  rose  in  a  land  of  metal  and  ore.  And 
when  a  mile  from  town,  perhaps,  she  met  her  husband,  when,  turn 
ing,  she  came  with  him  back  through  the  sunset  light,  when  they 
moved  together,  of  a  height,  happy,  it  was  as  though  beings  of 
another  race  trod  the  road.  There  needed  no  herald  to  say,  "  These 
are  gods  ! " 

But  much  of  the  time  Desir6e  was  alone.  She  asked  for  work  at 
the  hospital  and  was  given  it,  and  here  she  spent  several  hours  of  each 
day.  There  were  no  wounded  now  at  Dalton,  only  the  ill,  and  these 
in  the  wisely  cared-for,  steadily  built-up  army,  lessened  always  in 
number.  Suffering  there  was,  however,  now  as  always;  moanings 
and  tossings,  delirium,  ennui,  pain  to  be  assuaged,  crises  to  be  met, 
eyes  to  be  closed,  convalescence  to  be  tended.  In  Dalton  as  else 
where  the  Confederate  women  nursed  with  tenderness  the  Con 
federate  ill.  Desiree  did  her  part,  coming  like  something  cordial, 
something  golden,  into  the  whitewashed  ward.  When  her  hours 
were  over,  back  she  came  to  the  house  behind  the  syringas,  bathed 
and  dressed,  and  ate  with  Miss  Sophia  and  Miss  Amanda  a  Con 
federate  dinner.  Then  for  an  hour  they  sewed  and  knitted  and 
scraped  lint;  then,  when  the  afternoon  had  lengthened,  she  took  the 
palmetto  hat  she  had  braided  and  went  out  of  the  lace  handkerchief 
yard  to  the  road  and  walked  upon  it. 

Miss  Sophia  and  Miss  Amanda  had  attacks  of  remonstrance. 
"  Dear  Mrs.  Cary,  I  don't  think  you  should !  A  young  woman  and  — 
pardon  us  if  we  seem  too  personal  —  and  beautiful !  It 's  not,  of 
course,  that  you  would  suffer  the  least  insult  —  but  it  is  not  cus 
tomary  for  a  lady  to  walk  for  pleasure  on  a  public  road  where  all 
kinds  of  serious  things  are  going  on  — " 


262  CEASE  FIRING 

Desiree  laughed.  "  Not  if  they  are  interesting  things?  Dear  Miss 
Sophia,  I  stopped  at  the  post-office  and  brought  you  a  letter." 

Miss  Sophia  put  out  her  hand  for  the  letter,  but  she  held  to  her 
text  a  moment  longer.  "I  do  not  think  that  Captain  Gary  should 
allow  it,"  she  said. 

The  letter  was  from  Richmond,  from  the  cousin  who  had  gone  to 
nurse  her  son.  Miss  Sophia  read  it  aloud. 

MY  DEAR  SOPHIA:  — 

I  am  here  and  George  is  better  —  thank  God  for  all  His  mercies ! 
The  wound  in  the  leg  was  a  bad  one  and  gangrene  set  in,  necessitating 
amputation,  and  then  came  this  pneumonia.  He  will  live,  though, 
and  I  shall  bring  my  son  home  and  keep  him  while  I  live !  The  city  is 
so  crowded,  it  is  frightful.  We  in  Georgia  do  not  yet  know  the  hor 
rors  of  this  war.  I  could  hardly  find  a  place  to  lay  my  head,  but  now 
a  billiard-room  in  a  hotel  has  been  divided  off  into  little  rooms,  each 
no  bigger  than  a  stall  in  my  stable,  and  I  have  one  of  these.  I  go  for 
my  meals  to  a  house  two  streets  away,  and  I  pay  for  shelter  and  food 
twenty-five  dollars  a  day.  Flour  here  is  two  hundred  and  fifty  dol 
lars  a  barrel.  Butter  is  twelve  dollars  a  pound.  We  live  on  corn- 
bread,  with  now  and  then  a  little  bacon  or  rice.  Yesterday  I  bought 
two  oranges  for  George.  They  were  eight  dollars  apiece.  Oh, 
Sophia,  it's  like  having  George  a  little  boy  again!  Two  days  ago 
there  was  a  dreadful  excitement.  I  heard  the  cannon  and  the  alarm 
bell.  George  was  a  little  light-headed  and  he  would  have  it  that 
there  was  a  great  battle,  and  that  the  boys  were  calling,  and  he  must 
get  up !  At  last  I  got  him  quiet,  and  when  he  was  asleep  and  I  went  to 
supper  I  was  told  that  it  was  a  Yankee  raid,  led  by  an  officer  named 
Dahlgren,  who  was  killed.  The  reserves  had  been  called  out  and 
there  was  great  excitement.  We  have  since  heard  fearful  reports  of 
the  object  of  the  raid.  The  President  and  his  Cabinet  were  to  be 
killed,  the  prisoners  freed  and  set  to  sacking  the  city  which  was  then 
to  have  been  burned.  Oh,  my  dear  Sophia,  what  a  world  we  live  in! 
I  was  in  Richmond  on  my  wedding  journey.  I  feel  dazed  when  I 
think  of  now  and  then.  Then  it  was  all  bright-hued  and  gay;  now  it 
is  all  dark-hued,  with  the  strangest  restlessness!  I  never  saw  so 
many  women  in  black.  You  always  hear  military  sounds,  and  the 
people,  for  one  reason  or  another,  are  out  of  doors  in  great  numbers. 


DALTON  263 

The  church  bells  have  been  taken  down  to  be  melted  into  cannon. 
The  poverty,  the  suffering,  the  crowding  are  frightful.  But  I  do  not 
believe  there  is  another  such  people  for  bearing  things!  George  is  a 
great  favourite  in  the  ward.  They  say  he  has  been  so  patient  and 
funny.  My  dear  Sophia,  I  always  think  of  you  with  your  plum- 
colour  silk  bag  and  your  spools  of  embroidery  thread!  I  wish  I  had 
those  spools  of  thread.  Yesterday  I  had  to  do  some  mending,  and  I 
went  out  and  bought  one  spool  for  five  dollars.  —  George  is  waking 
up!  I  will  write  again.  If  he  only  gets  well,  Sophia,  —  he  and  the 
country! 

Your  affectionate  cousin, 


Miss  Sophia  folded  the  letter.  " Dear  George!  I  am  glad  enough 
that  he  will  get  better.  He  was  a  sad  tease!  He  used  to  say  the 
strangest  things.  I  remember  one  day  he  said  that  behind  Amanda 
embroidering  he  always  saw  a  million  shut-in  women  sticking  cam 
bric  needles  into  the  eyes  of  the  future.  And  he  said  that  I  had  done 
the  whole  world  in  wax,  and  he  wondered  how  it  would  be  if  we  ever 
got  before  a  good  hot  fire.  —  He  was  n't  lacking  in  sense  either,  only 
it  never  had  a  chance  to  come  out,  Maria  spoiling  him  so,  and 
darkeys  and  dogs  always  at  his  heels.  —  No,  dear  Mrs.  Gary,  you're 
a  young  woman,  and  —  you'll  pardon  me,  I  know!  —  a  beautiful 
one,  and  I  don't  think  Captain  Gary  ought  to  allow  it!" 

March  went,  April  went,  May  came.  On  the  first  of  May,  Desiree, 
walking  on  the  road,  thought  she  observed  something  unusual  in  the 
air.  Presently  there  passed  cavalry,  a  great  deal  of  cavalry.  She 
leaned  against  a  wayside  tree  and  watched.  Presently  there  rode  an 
officer  whom  she  knew. 

He  lifted  his  hat,  then  pushed  his  horse  upon  the  dusty  turf  be 
neath  the  tree.  "We  're  ordered  out  toward  the  Oostenaula!  Sher 
man's  in  motion.  The  volcano  is  about  to  become  active." 

"Is  it  going  to  overflow  Dalton  ?" 

"Well,  it  would  seem  so!  Though  sometimes  there's  a  new  crater. 
We'll  see  what  we'll  see.  Anyhow,  Gary '11  be  sending  you  to  the 
rear." 

"I'll  fall  back  when  the  army  falls  back." 

Edward  came  that  night  and  plead  with  her.   She  could  go  to 


264  CEASE   FIRING 

Kingston  on  the  cars  and  thence  to  Rome  to  the  westward,  out  of 
the  region  of  danger  — 

"Edward,"  she  said,  "have  n't  I  been  a  good  campaigner  ?" 

" The  best—  " 

"Then,  when  you  can  do  a  thing  well,  why  do  something  else 
poorly  ?  This  is  the  way  I  am  going  to  live,  and  when  you  wed  me 
you  wed  my  way  of  life." 

"If  harm  came  to  you,  Desiree  — " 

"And  I  might  say,  'If  harm  came  to  you,  Edward/  —  I  know 
that  harm  may  come  to  you,  but  —  I  don't  say  it,  and  you  must  not 
say  it  either.  With  you  is  my  home,  my  Cape  Jessamine,  and  I  am 
not  going  to  leave  it." 

"With  you  is  my  home,  my  Cape  Jessamine  —  and  all  the  gods 
know  I  love  you  here  — " 

"  I  am  not  going  to  Rome.  Let  us  walk  a  little,  in  the  moonlight." 

The  next  day  came  in  from  Savannah  Mercer's  brigade  of  four 
teen  hundred.  On  the  third  the  scouts  reported  a  great  force  of  the 
enemy  at  Ringgold.  On  this  day,  too,  the  cavalry  pickets  were 
driven  in  along  the  Cleveland  road.  On  the  fifth  the  great  blue  host 
formed  in  line  of  battle  near  Tunnel  Hill.  Over  against  them  were 
drawn  the  grey.  The  fifth  and  the  sixth  were  days  of  skirmishing,  of 
reconnoissance,  of  putting  forth  fingers  and  drawing  them  back.  In 
the  first  light  of  the  seventh,  under  a  wonderful  sunrise  sky,  the  blue 
army  began  a  general  advance. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE   ROAD   TO   RESACA 

FOR  seven  days  Rocky  Face  Mountain  echoed  the  rattling  fire. 
Milk  Mountain  behind  also  threw  it  back,  and  Horn  Moun 
tain  behind  Milk.  Crow  Valley  saw  hard  fighting,  and  Mill 
Creek  Gap  and  Trail  Gap.  Alabama  troops  were  posted  above  the 
last  two  and  on  the  top  of  the  Chattoogata  Ridge.  Here  they  laid  in 
line  huge  stones,  ready  for  the  throwing  down  when  the  pass  below 
should  darken  with  the  blue.  They  made  also  slight  breastworks  and 
rifle-pits.  At  Dug  Gap  were  stationed  two  regiments  of  Arkansas 
and  a  brigade  of  Kentucky  cavalry.  On  the  eighth,  Hooker  attacked 
these  in  force.  Kentucky  fought  dismounted ;  Kentucky  and  Arkan 
sas  together  did  mightily.  Johnston  sent  to  Hardee  to  dispatch  aid 
to  this  point.  Up  to  Dug  Gap  came  Patrick  Cleburne  with  Lowrey's 
and  Granbury's  brigades.  Cleburne  came  at  a  double-quick,  through 
the  intense  heat,  up  the  rough  mountain-side.  The  woods  rang  with 
fighting  until  the  dark  came  down.  Then  Geary  rested  in  the  valley 
below  and  Cleburne  on  the  heights  above,  and  the  stars  shone  on 
both.  Stewart's  and  Stevenson's  divisions  held  Rocky  Face  Moun 
tain.  Old  Rocky  Face  saw  tense  fighting,  stubborn  as  its  own 
make-up.  Skirmish  upon  skirmish  occupied  the  hours.  Here,  too, 
were  breastworks  and  rifle-pits,  and  the  blue  advanced  against  them, 
and  the  blue  went  back  again,  and  came  again,  and  went  back  again. 
All  the  time  the  batteries  kept  up  a  galling,  raking  fire.  Pettus's  Ala 
bama  brigade  was  at  the  top  of  the  mountain,  at  the  signal  station. 
Brown  and  Reynolds  and  Gumming  were  lower  down,  toward  the 
valley.  And  on  the  floor  of  the  valley,  here  visible  in  square  or 
roughly  circular  clearings,  here  hidden  by  the  thick  woods,  was  a 
host  of  the  enemy.  Morning,  noon,  and  afternoon  went  on  the  skir 
mishing.  On  the  ninth  occurred  a  determined  assault  upon  Pettus's 
line.  There  was  a  bloody,  protracted  struggle,  and  while  the  moun 
tain  flamed  and  thundered,  the  blue  sharpshooters  paid  deadly 
attention  to  the  brigades  below  of  Cumming  and  Reynolds.  The 


266  CEASE   FIRING 

Alabamians  on  Rocky  Face  repelled  the  assault;  down,  down  it 
sank  to  the  floor  of  the  valley.  After  an  interval  a  line  of  battle 
appeared  before  Gumming.  The  Georgian  threw  forward  skirmish 
ers.  There  was  a  battalion  of  artillery  —  Major  John  William 
Johnston's  battalion.  Cherokee  Artillery,  Stephens's  Light  Artil 
lery,  Tennessee  Battery,  all  came  into  action.  The  major  com 
manding  —  once  the  captain  of  the  Botetourt  Artillery,  of  the 
"homesick  battery"  of  Chickasaw  Bayou  and  Port  Gibson  — 
placed  his  guns  with  skill  and  saw  them  served  well  and  double 
well.  Together  with  Cumming's  skirmishers  the  battalion  checked 
the  blue  advance  along  this  line. 

Hour  after  hour,  day  after  day,  continued  the  skirmishing  to  the 
west  of  Dal  ton.  Now  and  again,  among  the  slighter  notes,  struck 
the  full  chord  of  a  more  or  less  heavy  engagement.  But  there  came 
no  general  and  far-flung  battle.  There  was  loss  of  life,  but  not  great 
loss,  and  all  the  attacks  were  repelled.  Joseph  E.  Johnston  watched 
with  his  steady  face. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  ninth  came  the  first  indication  that  the 
blue,  behind  the  long  cover  of  the  mountains,  were  moving  south 
ward  toward  Snake  Creek  Gap,  halfway  between  Dalton  and  Resaca. 
Hood  with  three  divisions  was  at  once  ordered  upon  the  road  to 
Resaca,  where  was  already  Cantey's  brigade,  come  in  the  day  before. 
Observing  the  grey  movement,  theblue  advance  by  Snake  Creek  drew 
back  for  the  moment.  The  air  around  Dalton  continued  smoky,  the 
rifles  to  ring.  The  blue  made  a  night  attack,  thoroughly  repulsed  by 
Bates's  division.  On  the  eleventh  arrived  at  Resaca  from  Mississippi 
Leonidas  Polk  with  Loring's  division.  On  this  day  Cantey  sent  a 
courier  to  General  Johnston.  Sherman's  was  certainly  a  turning 
movement,  a  steady  blue  flood  rolling  south  by  Snake  Creek  Pass, 
between  Milk  and  Horn  Mountains. 

Before  break  of  day  on  the  twelfth,  Johnston  sent  Wheeler  with 
two  thousand  cavalry,  supported  by  Hindman,  to  the  northern  end 
of  Rocky  Face  to  reconnoitre  in  force.  Was  the  whole  Federal  army 
moving  toward  Resaca,  or  not  ?  Rounding  Rocky  Face,  Wheeler 
clashed  with  Stoneman's  cavalry.  After  a  sharp  engagement,  the 
blue  fell  back  down  the  western  side  of  Rocky  Face.  Retiring,  they 
set  fire  to  a  great  number  of  their  wagons.  The  smoke  arose,  thick 
and  dark,  but  the  grey  reconnoissance,  piercing  it,  saw  enough  to 


THE   ROAD   TO   RESACA  267 

assure  it  that  Sherman  intended  no  pitched  battle  at  Dalton.  The 
whole  vast  blue  army  was  moving  southward  behind  the  screen 
of  Rocky  Face  and  the  Chattoogata  Ridge,  south  and  east  upon 
Resaca  and  the  grey  line  of  communications.  Wheeler  returned  at 
dusk  and  reported. 

Night  fell.  The  Army  of  Tennessee,  after  days  of  fighting,  nights 
of  alarms,  lay  now,  in  its  various  positions,  in  a  world  that  seemed 
suddenly,  strangely  silent.  The  army,  that  was  by  now  a  philo 
sopher,  welcomed  the  moment  with  its  quiet.  It  threw  itself  upon 
the  warm  earth  and  slept  with  the  determination  of  the  dead.  Ten 
o'clock,  eleven  o'clock,  twelve  o'clock,  one  o'clock!  A  bugle  blew  — 
another  at  a  distance  —  another.  Drums  began  to  beat.  The  Army 
of  Tennessee  rose  to  its  feet.  Marching  orders!  The  road  to  Resaca  ? 
All  right! 

Grey  infantry,  grey  artillery,  grey  wagon- train,  grey  cavalry  rear 
guard,  grey  stanch  generals,  grey  stanch  men,  the  Army  of  Tennes 
see  took  the  starlight  road  to  Resaca,  where  were  already  Hood  with 
the  three  divisions,  Cantey's  brigade,  and  Polk  with  the  division  of 
Loring.  The  night  rolled  away,  the  morning  wind  blew  fresh,  the 
streamers  of  the  dawn  flared  high  above  the  Georgia  woods.  The 
Army  of  Tennessee  moved  with  a  light  and  swinging  step.  Of  this 
campaign  a  week  had  marked  itself  off,  like  a  bead,  half  dark,  half 
bright,  on  a  rosary  string.  At  Dalton,  Atlanta  lay  a  hundred  and 
twenty  miles  to  the  southward.  When  the  army  came  to  Resaca, 
Atlanta  was  eighteen  miles  the  nearer. 

Back  in  Dalton,  in  the  house  behind  the  syringas,  there  was  pro 
test.  Miss  Sophia  protested  with  a  waxen  dignity,  Miss  Amanda 
with  tears  in  her  eyes.  Both  were  so  moved  that  they  came  out 
of  the  parlour  upon  the  clematis  porch  where  Desiree  was  super 
vising  the  cording  of  a  small  hair-trunk.  "Follow  the  Army!" 
cried  Miss  Sophia,  and  " Follow  the  Army!"  echoed  Miss  Amanda. 
"Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Gary,  are  you  sure  that  it's  wise  — 

"It's  the  wisdom  of  Solomon,"  said  Desiree,  on  her  knees.  "Of 
the  Song  of  Solomon.  —  Now,  uncle,  that's  done!  Can  you  carry  it 
out  to  the  wagon,  or  shall  I  help  you  ?" 

The  ancient  darkey  lifted  it.  "No,  'm.  I  kin  tote  it."  He  went 
down  the  path  toward  the  gate  and  an  ancient,  springless  wagon. 

Desiree  rose.  Miss  Amanda's  tears  overflowed,  and  Miss  Sophia 


268  CEASE   FIRING 

was  so  agitated  that  she  leaned  against  the  doorpost,  and  her  thin 
old  hand  trembled  where  it  touched  her  linsey  skirt.  "  You  've  been 
as  good  as  gold  to  me,"  said  Desiree.  "I've  loved  this  little  house. 
I'm  going  to  think  of  it  often.  Dear  Miss  Sophia,  dear  Miss 
Amanda,  good-bye!" 

"Oh,  it's  not  wise,"  cried  Miss  Sophia;  "I  feel  that  it's  not 
wise!" 

"If  you'd  just  quietly  wait,"  said  Miss' Amanda,  "until  the  army 
comes  back  through  Dalton." 

But  Desiree  thought  that  that  would  be  too  long.  She  smiled  and 
broke  some  purple  clematis  from  the  porch  to  take  with  her,  and 
then  the  two  ladies  went  with  her  to  the  gate,  and  she  kissed  them 
both,  and  they  said  "  God  bless  you!"  and  she  mounted  the  wagon; 
and  from  the  place  where  the  road  turned  southward  looked  back 
and  waved  her  hand.  The  lace  handkerchief  yard  and  the  syringa 
bushes  and  the  shingled  roof  above  them  sank  out  of  her  life. 

"I'se  gwine  tek  de  duht  road,"  said  the  negro.  "Less  ob  fool 
soldiers  projeckin'  erlong  dat  one!" 

The  horse  was  worn  and  old,  the  wagon  the  same.  Out  of  Dal 
ton,  over  trampled  fields,  then  between  wooded  hills,  went,  slowly 
enough,  the  wagon,  the  hair-trunk,  Desiree,  and  the  negro.  "Don' 
yo'  fret,  mistis !  I  'se  gwine  git  yo'  dar  befo'  de  battle.  I  'se  gwine  git 
yo'  dar  befo'  midnight  ennyhow!" 

"What  is  your  name  ?" 

"Nebuchadnezzar,  mistis." 

"And  the  horse?" 

"Dat  ar  horse  name  Julius  Caesar.  He  good  horse  ef  he  had 
ernough  ter  eat." 

The  day  was  warm,  the  sky  a  deep  blue,  all  neighbouring  vegeta 
tion  covered  with  a  tawny  felt  of  dust.  Trampling  feet  and  tramp 
ling  feet  of  horses  and  men,  wagon  wheels  and  wagon  wheels  and 
wagon  wheels,  had  gone  over  that  road.  It  was  a  trough  of  dust, 
and  when  the  wind  blew  it  up,  a  sandstorm  would  not  have  been 
more  blinding.  It  seemed  clear  now  of  troops  —  all  were  withdrawn 
into  the  haze  to  the  southward.  As  for  the  enemy,  he  must  be  mov 
ing  on  the  other  side  of  the  low  mountains,  unless,  indeed,  he  were 
already  in  force  at  Resaca —  and  the  grey  were  going  into  battle  — 
and  the  grey  were  going  into  battle. 


THE   ROAD   TO   RESACA  269 

"Julius  Caesar  goes  pretty  slow,"  said  Desiree. 

There  was  little  debris  in  the  road  or  by  the  wayside,  no  wrecked, 
lef t-behind  wagons,  little  or  no  discarded  accoutrement,  few  broken- 
down  or  dying  horses,  very  few  ill  or  wounded  men,  or  mere  footsore 
stragglers.  Johnston's  movements  were  as  clear-cut  as  so  many 
cameos.  He  left  no  filings  behind;  he  did  not  believe  in  blurred 
edges.  He  might  place  an  army  here  to-day,  and  the  morrow  might 
find  it  a  knight's  move  or  a  bishop's  or  a  rook's  or  a  queen's  away'; 
but  always  it  went  cleanly,  bag  and  baggage,  clean-lined,  self-con 
tained,  with  intention  and  poise.  If  his  army  was  in  retreat,  the 
road  behind  him  hardly  bore  witness  to  the  fact. 

Horse  and  wagon  crept  on  toward  Resaca.  Morning  wore  to  after 
noon,  very  warm,  very  —  "Nebuchadnezzar,  what  do  you  make  of 
that  dust  before  us  ?  I  make  smoke  as  well  as  dust.  And  now  I 
make  firing!  Listen!" 

"Reckon  better  tuhn  back  — " 

"No,  no!  Goon!  When  it  is  necessary  to  stop,  we  will  stop  until 
they  let  us  by.  It's  rear  guard  fighting  probably  — " 

The  cloud  mounted.  A  few  hundred  yards  and  a  bullet  came  and 
sheared  away  a  leafy  twig  from  the  oak  under  which  they  were  pass 
ing.  It  fell  upon  Desiree's  lap.  A  few  yards  farther,  a  second  struck 
the  dusty  road  in  front  of  the  horse.  The  confused  sound  down  the 
road  swelled  into  tumult. 

"Gawd-er-moughty!"  said  Nebuchadnezzar.  "Mus'  git  out  ob 
dis!  Dey're  projeckin'  dishyer  way!" 

"Drive  into  the  bank!"  ordered  Desiree.  "No!  there  where  it  is 
wider!  Don't  be  afraid!  Look  how  steady  Julius  Caesar  stands!" 

"  Yass,  'm.  Think  I  '11  git  out  en  hoi'  him.  —  Lawd  hab  mercy, 
heah  dey  come!" 

They  came  like  a  storm  of  the  desert,  two  colours,  one  driving,  one 
giving  back,  but  in  so  great  a  cloud  of  road  dust  and  carbine  smoke, 
and  in  so  rapid  motion  that  which  was  which  and  whose  were  the 
shouts  of  triumph  was  not  easy  to  tell.  The  horses'  hoofs  made  a 
thunder;  all  grew  large,  enveloped  the  earth,  brought  din  and  suffo 
cation,  roared  by  and  were  gone.  There  was  a  sense  that  the  vic 
torious  colour  was  grey  —  but  all  was  gone  like  a  blast  of  the  genii. 
The  wagon  had  been  nearly  overturned.  Some  one  had  ridden 
violently  against  it  —  then  there  had  sounded  a  shout,  "  'Ware!  A 


270  CEASE  FIRING 

woman ! "  and  the  wild  course,  pursued  and  pursuers,  ever  so  slightly 
swerved.  Desiree,  thrown  to  her  knees,  laid  hold  of  the  wagon  edge 
and  waited,  but  not  with  closed  eyes.  A  colour  was  in  her  cheek;  she 
looked  in  this  torrent  as  she  had  looked  upon  the  levee,  above  the 
Mississippi  in  anger.  The  torrent  passed,  the  rage  of  noise  sank,  the 
choking,  blinding  dust  began  to  settle.  Nebuchadnezzar  came  from 
the  lee  side  of  Julius  Caesar.  He  was  ashen,  whether  with  dust  or 
with  fear. 

"Whoever  in  dey  born  days  see  de  like  ob  dat  ?  Christian  folk 
actin'  de  debbil  lak  dat!  Hit  er-gwine  ter  bring  er  jedgment!  Yo' 
ain'  huht,  mistis  ?" 

"No,"  said  Desiree.  "I  felt  as  though  something  were  bearing 
down  upon  me  out  of  'Paradise  Lost/" 

"What  dat  blood  on  yo'  ahm  ?" 

Desiree  looked.  "  A  bullet  must  have  grazed  it.  I  never  felt  it.  It 
does  n't  hurt  much  now." 

They  did  not  get  to  Resaca  that  night.  Julius  Caesar  was  too  tired, 
the  road  too  heavy,  and  one  of  Wheeler's  outposts,  stopping  the 
wagon,  insisted  that  it  was  not  safe  for  it  to  go  farther  in  the  dark 
ness.  With  the  first  fireflies  they  turned  aside  to  a  "  cracker's  "  cabin 
in  a  fold  of  the  hills  and  asked  for  hospitality.  A  tall,  lean,  elderly 
woman  and  her  tall,  lean  daughters  gave  them  rude  shelter  and  rude 
fare.  In  the  morning  the  wagon  and  Julius  Caesar  and  Nebuchad 
nezzar  and  Desiree  went  on  again  toward  Resaca. 

To-day  they  overtook  more  limping  soldiers  than  had  been  the 
case  on  yesterday.  The  wagon  gave  "lifts"  to  several  and  would 
have  given  more  but  that  Julius  Caesar  was  so  evidently  a  weary 
and  worn  foot  soldier  himself.  They  came  upon  a  bank  topped  by  a 
pine  tree,  and  under  it,  his  arm  overhanging  the  road,  was  stretched 
a  soldier  overtaken  by  a  fever.  His  face  was  flushed  and  burning 
hot,  his  eyes  bright  and  wild.  "Point  Coupee  Artillery !"  he  said; 
"Point  Coupee  Artillery!"  over  and  over  again.  Desiree  made 
Nebuchadnezzar  draw  rein.  She  got  out  of  the  wagon,  climbed  the 
bank,  and  knelt  beside  the  man.  "Point  Coupee  Artillery ! "  he  said. 
"Water!  Point  Coupee  Artillery.  Water!"  There  was  no  spring 
anywhere  near.  She  had  had  a  bottle  of  water,  but  had  given  it  all  to 
two  soldiers  a  mile  back.  Together  she  and  Nebuchadnezzar  got  the 
artilleryman  into  the  wagon,  where  he  lay  with  his  head  against  her 


THE   ROAD   TO   RESACA  271 

knee.  "Point  Coupee!"  she  said.  " Louisiana!"  and  her  hand  lay 
cool  and  soft  upon  the  burning  forehead.  They  carried  him  two 
miles,  until  they  came  to  the  house  of  a  widow,  who  took  the 
fevered  man  in  and  gave  him  water  and  a  bed,  and  could  be  trusted, 
Desiree  saw,  to  nurse  him.  Going  on  for  a  mile,  they  came  up  with  a 
boy  with  a  badly  cut  foot  and  a  man  with  a  bandaged  head  and  his 
trouser  leg  rolled  up  to  the  thigh,  bandaged,  too,  with^  a  bloody 
cloth.  Both  were  white-lipped  with  the  heat  and  weariness,  and 
Desiree  and  Nebuchadnezzar  and  Julius  Caesar  took  them  on  upon 
the  road.  Desiree  said  that  she  was  tired  of  riding  and  walked  beside 
the  wagon,  and  when  they  came  to  a  hill,  Nebuchadnezzar,  too,  got 
down  and  walked.  The  two  honest  stragglers,  though  worse  for  the 
wear,  were  cheerful  souls  and  inclined  to  talk.  "Near  Resaca  ?  Yes, 
ma'am;  right  near  now.  It's  mighty  good  of  you  to  give  us  a  lift! 
Old  Joe  certainly  can't  begin  the  battle  till  Robin  and  me  get 

there!" 

Robin  put  in  his  oar.  "Man  on  horseback  came  riding  along 
awhile  ago  and  turned  off  toward  the  Connesauga,  an'  he  said  that 
Loring  met  the  Yanks  yesterday  as  they  were  streaming  out  of 
Snake  Creek  Gap,  and  held  them  in  check  for  three  hours  until 
Hardee  and  Hood  came  up  and  formed,  and  that  then  things 
stopped  and  were  holding  their  breath  on  that  line  when  he  left  - 

"  Old  Blizzard 's  a  good  one !  Never  '11  forget  him  at  Fort  Pember- 
ton !  l  Give  them  blizzards,  men ! '  says  he.  '  Give  them  blizzards ! ' : 

"My  husband  was  at  Fort  Pemberton.    Were  you  at  Vicks- 

burg?" 

"Vicksburg!    Should  think  I  was  at  Vicksburg!    Were  you, 

ma'am?" 

"Yes.  In  a  cave  down  by  the th  Redan." 

"I  was  down  by  the  river,  back  of  the  Lower  Batteries.  Vicks 
burg!  We  thought  that  nothing  could  ever  happen  any  more  after 
Vicksburg!  But  things  just  went  on  happening  — " 

"Firing  ahead  of  us,"  said  the  boy. 

It  rose  and  fell  in  the  distance  to  the  left  of  the  road.  A  turn  and 
they  came  upon  pickets.  Followed  a  parley.  "  You  two  want  to  join 
your  regiment,  and  the  lady  wants  to  get  to  Resaca?  Resaca  is  n't  a 
big  place,  ma'am,  and  the  fighting's  going  to  be  all  around  it  and 
maybe  through  it.  Had  n't  you  better  — 


272  CEASE   FIRING 

"No,  I  had  n't.  My  husband  is  Captain  Gary  of  the th  Vir 
ginia.  I  know,  sir,  that  you  are  going  most  courteously  to  let  me 
pass." 

When  Desiree  Gaillard  said  "most  courteously,"  when  she  smiled 
and  looked  straight  and  steady  with  her  dark  eyes,  it  was  fatal.  No 
thing  short  of  positive  orders  to  the  contrary  would  have  kept  those 
grey  pickets  from  letting  her  pass.  The  wagon  went  on,  and,  having 
pierced  a  skirmish  line  lying  down  waiting,  came,  in  the  dusty  fore 
noon,  to  Stevenson's  division,  drawn  up  in  two  lines  across  and  on 
either  side  of  the  Dalton  and  Resaca  road. 

An  officer  stopped  the  advance.  "There's  going  to  be  fighting 
here  in  five  minutes!  You  shouldn't  have  been  let  to  pass  the 
pickets.  You  can't  go  on  and  you  can't  go  back.  They 've  got  their 
batteries  planted  and  they  're  coming  out  of  the  wood  yonder.  — 
There's  the  first  shell!"  He  looked  around  him.  " Madam,  I '11  agree 
that  there  are  n't  many  safe  places  in  the  Confederacy,  but  I  wish 
that  you  were  in  one  of  them !  You  two  men  report  to  the  sergeant 
there !  Uncle,  you  drive  that  cart  behind  the  hill  yonder  —  the  one 
next  to  the  one  with  the  guns  on  it.  When  you're  there,  madam, 
you  'd  better  lie  close  to  the  earth,  behind  one  of  those  boulders.  As 
soon  as  we  've  silenced  their  fire  and  the  road 's  clear,  you  can  go  on. 
—  Not  at  all !  Not  at  all !  But  it  is  extremely  unwise  for  a  lady  to  be 
here!" 

The  eastern  side  of  the  hill  offered  fair  shelter.  Nebuchadnezzar 
took  the  old  horse  from  the  wagon  and  fastened  him  to  a  small  pine. 
Desiree  sat  down  in  the  long  cool  grass  beside  a  grey  boulder.  Before 
her  stretched  rugged  ground,  and  far  and  wide  she  saw  grey  troops, 
ready  for  battle.  Johnston  had  wasted  no  moment  at  Resaca.  With 
skill  and  certitude  he  flung  down  his  battle  line,  horseshoe-shaped, 
Hardee  holding  the  centre,  Polk  on  the  left  bent  down  to  the 
Oostenaula,  Hood  on  the  right  resting  on  the  Connesauga.  Earth 
works  sprang  into  being,  salients  for  artillery  —  hardy  and  ready 
and  in  high  spirits  the  Army  of  Tennessee  faced  the  foe.  Through 
out  the  morning  there  had  been  general  skirmishing,  and  now  a 
fierce  attack  was  in  progress  against  Hindman's  division  of  Hood's 
corps.  It  spread  and  involved  Stevenson.  The  latter  had  the  brig 
ades  of  Cumming  and  Brown  in  his  front  line,  in  his  second  those 
of  Pettus  and  Reynolds.  All  the  ground  here  was  rough  and  tan- 


THE  ROAD   TO   RESACA  273 

gled,  rock-strewn,  overlaid  with  briars  and  a  growth  of  small  bushy 
pines.  The  men  had  made  some  kind  of  breastworks  with  rotted 
logs  and  the  rails  from  a  demolished  fence.  What  especially  an 
noyed  were  the  blue  sharpshooters.  There  was  a  ridge  in  the  pos 
session  of  these,  from  which  they  kept  up  a  perpetual  enfilading 
fire,  addressed  with  especial  vigour  against  Cumming's  line  and 
against  Johnston's  battalion  ranged  upon  a  long  hillside  by  Gum 
ming. 

From  the  foot  of  her  small  adjoining  hill,  Desiree  could  see  these 
pieces  plainly.  Elbow  on  knee,  chin  in  hand,  she  sat  and  watched. 
Six  guns  were  in  action ;  the  others,  expectant,  waiting  their  time. 
The  horses  were  withdrawn  below  the  hill.  Here,  indifferent,  long 
trained,  they  stood  and  cropped  the  grass  in  the  face  of  thunder  and 
gathering  smoke.  The  caissons  were  in  line  behind  the  pieces,  and 
from  them  powder  and  grape  and  canister  travelled  to  the  fighting 
guns.  They  were  fighting  hard.  From  each  metal  bore  sprang  yel* 
low-red  flowers  of  death.  The  hill  shook  and  became  wreathed  with 
smoke.  Through  it  she  saw  the  gun  detachments,  rhythmically 
moving,  and  other  figures,  officers  and  men,  passing  rapidly  to  and 
fro.  Shouted  orders  came  to  her,  then  the  thunder  of  the  guns  cov 
ered  all  other  sound.  The  antagonist  was  a  blue  battery  on  a  shoul 
der  of  the  ridge  and  blue  infantry  somewhere  in  the  thick  wood 
below.  This  battery's  range  was  poor;  most  of  the  shells  fell  short  of 
the  grey  hill.  But  the  sharpshooters  on  the  nearer  spur  were  another 
guess  matter.  Out  of  the  tops  of  thick  and  tall  pine  trees  came  death 
in  the  shape  of  pellets  of  lead  —  came  with  frequency,  came  with  a 
horrible  accuracy. 

Desiree  shuddered  as  she  looked. 

"Oh,"  she  cried.  "Oh,  to  be  God  just  one  minute!" 

She  found  Nebuchadnezzar  beside  her.  "  Gawd  ain'  mixed  up  wif 
dis.  Hit's  de  Debbil.  —  Dar's  ernother  one  struck!  See  him  spin- 
nin'  'roun'.  .  .  .  Hit  meks  me  sick." 

The  battalion  commander  —  twenty-five  years  old,  brown-eyed, 
warm-hearted,  sincere,  magnetic,  loved  by  his  men  —  rode  rapidly, 
in  the  rolling  smoke,  across  the  hilltop,  from  the  guns  engaged  to 
those  that  waited.  "  Forward  into  battery!  On  Captain  Van  den 
Corput's  left." 

He  turned  and  rode  back  to  the  thundering  battery.  The  smoke 


274  CEASE   FIRING 

parted  and  he  and  his  grey  horse  were  plainly  seen.  A  minie  ball 
came  from  the  wood  and  pierced  his  thigh.  "This  morning,"  says 
General  Stevenson's  report,  "was  wounded  the  brave  Major  J.  W. 
Johnston."  The  smoke  of  battle  rolled  over  the  hill  and  the  battal 
ion  of  artillery,  and  over  the  Dalton  and  Resaca  road,  and  over 
Stevenson's  division. 

Later,  there  was  a  great  movement  forward.  Wheeler,  ordered  to 
discover  the  position  and  formation  of  the  blue  left,  brought  John 
ston  information  which  resulted  in  an  order  to  Hood  to  make  a  half- 
change  of  front  and  drive  the  enemy  westward.  Hood,  with  the 
divisions  of  Stewart  and  Stevenson  and  supported  by  Walker, 
swept  with  his  wild  energy  to  the  task.  Stevenson  in  advance  had 
the  hottest  fighting,  but  all  fought  superbly.  At  sunset  the  enemy's 
extreme  left  was  forced  from  its  position. 

From  the  top  of  a  railroad  cut  near  the  Dalton  road,  Johnston 
gave  an  aide  an  order  for  Hood.  "Prepare  to  continue  movement 
at  daybreak.  Let  the  troops  understand  that  fighting  will  be  re 
newed."  Off  galloped  the  aide  and  sought  through  the  gathering 
dusk  for  General  Hood,  but  missed  his  road,  and  after  some  search 
ing  came  back  to  the  railroad  cut  to  find  General  Hood  now  with 
General  Johnston.  Hood  was  speaking:  "The  men  are  in  wild  spir 
its!  I  am,  too,  sir,  if  we  are  going  to  fight  to  a  finish!" 

Two  or  three  prisoners  were  brought  to  the  cut.  Questioned,  two 
refused  to  answer;  a  third  stated  that  he  belonged  to  Whittaker's 
brigade,  Stanley's  division,  Fourth  Army  Corps;  that  the  blue  line 
of  battle  ran  northeast  and  southwest,  and  that  the  blue  army  looked 
for  victory.  Wheeler  rode  up,  received  orders,  and  in  the  fading 
light  drew  his  cavalry  out  along  the  railroad.  Night  was  now  at 
hand.  Johnston  and  those  with  him  turned  their  horses  and  rode 
rapidly  from  the  right  toward  the  left,  back  to  headquarters,  estab 
lished  in  a  small  house  behind  Selden's  battery.  Here  they  found 
General  Hardee.  "All  well  with  us,  sir!  They  tried  to  storm  Cle- 
burne's  position,  but  signally  failed!  " 

"  Nothing  from  the  left  ?  " 

"  There  has  been  firing.  Here  comes  news  now,  I  think." 

Up  came  an  aide,  breathless,  his  horse  bleeding.  "  General  John 
ston —  from  General  Polk,  sir!  " 

"Yes,  yes  —  " 


THE   ROAD   TO   RESACA  275 

"  They  attacked  in  force,  sir,  driving  in  our  troops  and  seizing  a 
hill  which  commands  the  Oostenaula  bridges.  They  at  once  brought 
cannon  up.  General  Polk  is  about  to  move  to  retake  the  hill." 

"The  Oostenaula  bridge!  .  .  .  The  guns  now!" 

The  heavy  firing  rose  and  sank,  rose  again,  then  finally  died  in 
the  now  full  night.  The  ridge  commanding  the  bridge  to  the 
south,  held  by  Dodge  and  Logan  of  McPherson's  corps,  was  not 
retaken.  Tidings  that  it  was  not  came  to  the  group  by  Selden's 
battery.  And  on  the  heels  of  this  came  another  breathless  mes 
senger.  "General  —  from  General  Martin!  He  reports  that  the 
enemy  have  thrown  pontoons  across  the  Oostenaula  near  Calhoun. 
They  crossed  two  divisions  this  afternoon." 

Silence  for  a  moment,  then  Johnston  spoke  crisply.  "Very  well! 
If  he  crosses,  I  cross.  General  Hood,  the  order  for  the  advance  at 
daybreak  is  revoked."  He  spoke  to  an  aide.  "Get  the  staff  to 
gether!  —  General  Walker,  you  will  at  once  take  the  road  to  Cal 
houn  with  your  division.  Is  Colonel  Prestman  here?  —  Colonel,  the 
engineers  are  to  lay  to-night  a  pontoon  bridge  across  the  Oostenaula, 
a  mile  above  the  old  bridges.  General  Hardee  —  What  is  it,  Gen 
eral  Hood?" 

"Not  to  attack  in  the  morning!  General  Johnston,  do  you  not 
think—" 

"I  do  occasionally,  sir.  At  present  I  think  that  General  Sherman 
ardently  desires  to  place  himself  in  our  rear." 

"We  rolled  them  back  this  afternoon!  And  if  at  dawn  we  accom 
plish  even  more  — ' 

"Yes,  sir,  'if.'  You  ' rolled  back,'  very  gallantly,  part  of  the 
Fourth  Army  Corps." 

"But,  sir,— " 

"  Circumstances,  sir,  alter  cases.  It  was  General  Sherman's  inten 
tion  to  place  a  huge  army  astride  the  railroad  here  at  Resaca.  That 
intention  was  defeated.  He  proposes  now  to  cross  the  Oostenaula 
and  cut  our  lines  at  Calhoun.  It  is  that  movement  that  demands 
our  attention." 

"I  only  know,  sir,  that  it  is  expected  at  Richmond  that  we  take 
the  offensive." 

"Yes,  sir.  Many  things  are  expected  at  Richmond.  —  You  have 
your  order,  General.  Now,  General  Hardee  — ' 


276  CEASE   FIRING 

An  hour  or  two  later,  the  commander  of  the  Army  of  Tennessee 
returned  with  Hardee  from  the  left  toward  which  they  had  ridden. 
The  two  were  friends  as  well  as  superior  and  subordinate.  John 
ston  had  great  warmth  of  nature;  he  was  good  lover,  good  hater. 
Now  he  rode  quietly,  weary,  but  steadily  thinking.  The  light  of 
the  house  behind  Selden's  battery  appeared,  a  yellow  point  in  the 
thickened  air.  "  How  far  that  little  candle  .  .  .  Hardee!  I  Ve  had 
ten  wounds  in  battle,  but  before  this  summer  ends  I  'm  going  to 
have  a  worse  wound  than  any! " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  General,"  said  Hardee. 

"  Don't  you  ?  "  said  Johnston.  "  Well,  well!  perhaps  I  shan't  be 
wounded.  The  stars  are  over  us  all.  —  Here  is  the  house." 

As  the  two  dismounted,  an  aide  came  forward.  "  There  is  some 
one  waiting  here,  General,  to  speak  to  you.  A  lady — Mrs.  Gary —  " 

Desiree  came  into  the  light  from  the  open  door.  "Mrs.  Gary!" 
exclaimed  Hardee.  "How  in  the  world  — " 

Johnston  took  her  hand  in  his.  It  was  cold,  and  the  light  showed 
her  face.  "My  dear,  what  is  it  — " 

"General,"  said  Desiree,  "I  left  Dalton  yesterday,  and  to-day  I 
got  by  the  lines,  and  this  afternoon  into  Resaca.  And  awhile  ago, 

when  the  fighting  had  stopped,  I  found  where  was 's  brigade 

and  the th  Virginia.  And  I  went  there,  to  headquarters,  to  find 

out  if  my  husband  was  unhurt.  His  regiment  was  in  the  attack  on 
the  enemy's  left.  It  was  in  the  advance  and  it  lost  heavily.  When 
night  came  and  the  troops  were  withdrawn,  they  took  back  with 

them  all  their  wounded  they  could  gather.  But  the th  was  well 

ahead,  and  the  enemy  was  reinforced  and  threatening  in  its  front. 
When  it  was  ordered  back  it  had  to  leave  its  hurt.  They  are  there 
yet  —  they  are  there  now.  My  husband  is  among  the  missing.  .  .  . 

They  were  very  kind,  the  colonel  and  General .  They  would 

not  let  me  pass,  but  they  asked  for  volunteers  to  go.  Some  brave 
men  volunteered  and  went.  They  brought  back  a  number  of  the 
wounded  —  but  they  did  not  bring  back  my  husband.  They  said 
they  sought  everywhere  and  called  as  loudly  as  they  dared.  They 
said  that  if  he  were  living  —  But  I  can  seek  better  than  they  and  I 

am  not  afraid  to  call  aloud.  General said  that  he  would  not  let 

me  go,  and  I  said  that  I  would  bring  an  order  from  you  that  should 
make  him  let  me  go.  I  have  come  for  it,  General." 


THE   ROAD   TO   RESACA  277 

"The  enemy  is  very  close  to  that  front.  They  will  fire  at  any 
sound." 

"I  shall  go  silently.  Do  I  not  want  to  bring  him  safely  ?" 

"You  would  have  to  have  men  with  you." 

"Three  of  those  men  said  they  would  go  again.  But  I  said  no. 
An  old  negro  brought  me  in  his  wagon  from  Dalton.  He  is  old 
but  strong,  and  he  is  willing,  and  we  can  manage  together." 

" If  I  let  you  go— " 

"I  shall  love  you  forever.  If  you  let  me  go  you  will  do  wisely 
and  rightly — " 

"  It  is  not  a  time,"  said  Johnston, "  to  measure  by  small  standards 
or  weigh  with  little  weights.  You  may  go." 

A  host  of  stars  looked  down  on  the  wooded  hills  and  narrow  vales. 
There  was  a  space  of  about  an  acre  where,  long  ago,  trees  had  been 
girdled  and  felled.  The  trunks  of  some  still  lay  upon  the  earth,  bare 
of  bark,  gleaming  grey- white,  like  great  bones  of  an  elder  age.  Else 
where  there  were  mere  stumps,  serried  rows  of  them,  with  a  growth 
of  mullein  and  blackberry  between.  There  were  stones,  too,  half- 
buried  boulders,  and  in  a  corner  of  the  field,  pressing  close  to  a  rail 
fence,  a  thicket  of  sumach. 

Edward  Gary  lay  in  this  angle.  He  had  fallen  at  dusk,  leading  his 
men  in  the  final  charge.  It  was  twilight;  the  grey  wave  went  on, 
shouting.  He  saw  and  heard  another  coming,  and  to  avoid  tramp 
ling  he  dragged  himself  aside  into  this  sumach  thicket  by  the  fence. 
He  had  a  bullet  through  his  shoulder,  and  he  was  losing  blood  beside 
from  a  deep  wound  above  the  knee.  It  was  this  bleeding  that 
brought  the  roaring  in  his  ears  and  at  last  the  swoon.  He  had  band 
aged  it  as  well  as  he  could,  but  a  bone  in  his  hand  was  shattered 
and  he  could  not  do  it  well.  He  thought,  "I  shall  bleed  to  death." 
After  a  while  life  and  the  content  of  life  went  to  a  very  great  dis 
tance  —  very  far  off  and  small  like  a  sandbar  in  a  distant  ocean. 
Time,  too,  became  a  thin,  remote,  and  intermittent  stream.  Once,  he 
had  no  idea  when,  he  thought  that  there  were  voices  and  movement 
on  the  sandbar.  He  wet  his  lips  and  thought  that  he  spoke  aloud , 
but  probably  it  was  only  in  thought.  All  things  vanished  for  a  while, 
and  when  he  next  paid  attention  the  sandbar  was  very  quiet  and 
farther  oft"  than  ever.  The  wind  was  blowing  in  the  sumach  on  the 
sandbar,  and  a  star  was  shining  over  it.  .  .  .  No !  it  was  the  light  of 


278  CEASE  FIRING 

a  lantern.  There  were  hands  about  his  wound,  and  the  sound  of 
tearing  cloth,  and  the  feel  of  a  bandage  drawn  tightly  with  a  bit  of 
forked  stick  for  a  tourniquet,  and  then  water  with  a  dash  of  brandy 
at  his  lips  —  and  then  an  arm  beneath  his  head  and  a  face  down 
bent.  "Desiree  Gaillard,"  he  breathed. 


'CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE   GUNS 

MORNING  broke  with  a  heavy  mist  over  Oostenaula  and 
Connesauga,  over  Rocky  Face  and  Snake  Creek  Gap,  over 
the  village  of  Resaca,  over  the  Western  and  Atlantic  Rail 
road,  over  the  grey  army  and  the  blue  army.  A  keen,  continual 
skirmishing  began  with  the  light.  It  extended  along  the  whole  front, 
but  with  especial  sharpness  upon  Hardee's  line.  Some  blue  cannon 
opened  here,  and  for  a  time  it  seemed  that  at  any  moment  the  main 
bodies,  blue  and  grey,  might  crash  through  the  fog  into  a  general 
and  furious  battle.  Stevenson's  division,  moving  forward,  reoc- 
cupied  the  position  gained  the  evening  before.  Wrapped  in  the  mist, 
wet  with  the  morning  dew,  the  men  fell  to  work  upon  log  and  rail 
and  stump  defences.  Hindman's  line  was  next  to  Stevenson's,  and  a 
blue  battery,  well  placed,  was  sending  against  Hindman,  engaged  in 
thrusting  back  a  blue  assault,  a  stream  of  grape  and  canister.  Ste 
venson,  ordered  to  help  out  Hindman,  sent  Max  Van  den  Corput's 
battery  of  Johnston's  battalion  to  a  point  eighty  yards  in  front  of  his 
own  line  —  a  ragged  hill,  rising  abruptly  from  the  field,  with  a  wide 
and  deep  ravine  beyond.  In  dust  and  thunder  the  battery  came  to 
this  place;  the  guns  were  run  into  position,  the  guns  were  served, 
steady,  swift,  and  well.  "But,"  says  Stevenson,  "the  battery  had 
hardly  gotten  into  position  when  the  enemy  hotly  engaged  my  skir 
mishers,  driving  them  in,  and  pushing  on  to  the  assault  with  great 
impetuosity.  So  quickly  was  all  this  done  that  it  was  impossible  to 
remove  the  artillery  before  the  enemy  had  effected  a  lodgment  in  the 
ravine  in  front  of  it,  thus  placing  it  in  such  a  position  that,  while  the 
enemy  was  entirely  unable  to  remove  it,  we  were  equally  so,  without 
driving  off  the  enemy  massed  in  the  ravine  beyond  it,  which  would 
have  been  attended  with  great  loss  of  life.  The  assaults  of  the  enemy 
were  in  heavy  force  and  made  with  the  utmost  impetuosity,  but 
were  met  with  a  cool,  steady  fire  which  each  time  mowed  down  their 
ranks  and  drove  them  back,  leaving  the  ground  thickly  covered  in 
places  with  their  dead.  ..." 


CEASE   FIRING 

Along  Hardee's  line  the  white  puffs  of  cannon  smoke  showed  all 
day  through.  In  the  early  afternoon  came  a  courier  with  a  note 
from  Walker,  now  at  Calhoun.  "No  movement  of  the  enemy  ob 
served.  Think  report  of  passage  of  Oostenaula  unfounded."  John 
ston  read,  then  dispatched  an  order  to  Hood.  "Prepare  to  attack 
enemy's  left  as  indicated  yesterday  evening.  Three  brigades  of 
Folk's  and  Hardee's  will  support."  But  later,  as  Hood  was  prepar 
ing  to  move  forward,  there  came  a  more  breathless  messenger  yet 
from  Walker.  "The  first  report  was  true,  General!  They  crossed  at 
Lay's  Ferry.  Two  divisions  are  over,  and  others  on  the  way." 
Johnston  listened  with  an  impassive  face,  then  sent  at  once  and 
countermanded  Hood's  order.  Stewart's  division  only  was  not 
checked  in  time.  It  attacked,  and  was  roughly  handled  before  it 
could  be  recalled. 

Lieutenant  T.  B.  Mackall,  aide-de-camp  to  General  Mackall, 
chief  of  staff,  kept  a  journal  of  the  operations,  during  these  days,  of 
the  Army  of  Tennessee.  May  fifteenth,  1864,  he  writes:  — 

"...  7  A.M.  General  Johnston  has  been  on  hill  where  Selden's 
battery  is  posted  since  firing  began;  is  just  going  to  ride  to  the 
right,  leaving  General  Mackall  here.  Skirmishing  and  artillery 
still  going  on.  10  A.M.  General  Johnston  returned  to  Selden's  bat 
tery  an  hour  ago.  Answer  sent  to  cipher  of  the  President  received 
yesterday:  l  Sherman  cannot  reinforce  Grant  without  my  knowledge, 
and  will  not  as  we  are  skirmishing  along  our  entire  line.  We  are  in 
presence  of  whole  force  of  enemy  assembled  from  North  Alabama  and 
Tennessee.'  Ferguson's  brigade  of  cavalry,  also  Brigadier-General 
Jackson  have  reached  Rome.  Wheeler  has  just  gone  to  upper 
pontoon  bridge,  which  will  not  be  ready  for  crossing  for  fifteen 
minutes.  It  is  in  long  range  of  the  six-gun  battery  put  up  last  night 
on  the  hill  which  they  captured.  1 1  A.M.  Very  heavy  musketry  and 
artillery  firing  going  on,  apparently  on  Hindman's  line.  Just  before 
it  became  so  rapid  General  Johnston  rode  up  the  Dal  ton  road, 
apparently  on  account  of  some  news  brought  by  Hampton  from 
Hardee.  About  11.15  battery  on  our  extreme  right  opened.  Firing 
slackened  on  Hindman's  front.  Battery  on  hill  on  our  left  enfilades 
our  trenches;  riflemen  annoying  to  our  gunners.  12  M.  General 
Johnston  has  come  back  to  Selden's  battery.  The  firing  on  extreme 
right  three  quarters  of  an  hour  ago  caused  by  enemy's  crossing 


THE  GUNS  a8i 

Connesauga  in  rear  of  Hood,  capturing  Hood's  hospital.  A  brigade 
of  our  cavalry  after  them,  supported  by  a  brigade  of  Stewart's. 
Captain  Porter,  who  went  with  General  Johnston,  came  back.  Says 
last  reports  represent  our  troops  driving  enemy's  cavalry,  i  .30  P.M. 
Heavy  musketry  and  artillery  on  Hindman's  front;  began  about 
fifteen  minutes  ago.  Lieutenant  Wigfall  has  just  come  up  to  say 
enemy  are  making  a  very  determined  attack  on  Hindman.  General 
Johnston  preparing  to  mount  to  ride  to  Hood's.  Firing  continuous. 
3.30  P.M.  Few  minutes  after  writing  above  rode  off  to  General 
Hood's  with  General  Mackall,  who  accompanied  General  Johnston. 
Found  Hood  where  Dalton  dirt  road  and  railroad  are  near  each 
other  and  where  we  now  are.  Hindman,  a  few  minutes  after  we  ar 
rived,  repulsed  the  enemy,  who  came  up  in  some  places  to  his  breast 
works.  Our  reserves  not  used.  Orders  given  for  Stewart  to  take 
enemy  in  flank;  for  wagons  which  were  sent  back  to  be  brought  up 
to  Resaca.  Stevenson  and  Hindman  to  take  up  movement  of  Stew 
art.  Featherston  brought  from  Folk's  line,  also  Maney  and 

from  Cheatham.  These  supports  came  up  in  very  short  time. 
Stevenson,  however,  sent  word  that  enemy  in  three  lines  were  pre 
paring  to  attack  Stewart's  centre.  3.40  P.M.  (In  rear  of  Stewart's 
line  near  railroad)  Stewart  directed  to  receive  attack  and  pursue. 
But  slight  skirmishing  now;  enemy  not  making  attack.  9.30  P.M. 
At  house  behind  Selden's  battery  (headquarters  at  night).  Orders 
given  to  withdraw  from  this  place;  arrangements  made  and  trains 
moving.  This  afternoon,  about  4.30P.M.,  Stewart,  in  obedience  to 
orders  to  attack  if  his  position  was  not  assaulted,  advanced;  soon  his 
line  was  broken  by  a  terrible  fire  of  Hooker's  corps,  who  were  ready 
to  attack.  I  had  been  sent  to  accompany  Major  Ratchford  to  Gen 
eral  Featherston  (held  in  reserve)  to  order  him  in  the  General's 
name  to  take  position  in  support  of  Stewart,  near  Green's  house. 

"Monday,  May  16.  On  Calhoun  and  Adairsville  road,  two  miles 
south  of  Calhoun.  While  in  field  in  rear  of  Stewart's  line  and  near 
railroad  last  night,  about  dark,  corps  and  division  commanders 
assembled  and  instructions  given  to  effect  withdrawal  of  army  ta 
south  bank  of  Oostenaula.  Enemy  had  crossed  force  to  south  bank 
of  river  at  Dobbin's  Ferry;  reported  two  divisions.  Walker  was  fac 
ing  them,  immediately  in  our  front.  He  was  entrenched,  his  line  ex 
tending  from  Oostenaula  River  to  Tilton  on  Connesauga.  ...  In 


282  CEASE  FIRING 

two  hours  after  Stewart's  repulse,  Cheatham,  Hindman,  Cleburne, 
etc.,  were  assembled  around  the  camp-fires.  Hardee  had  been 
there  all  evening.  Routes  and  times  fixed;  cars  to  be  sent  for  the 
wounded;  wagons  and  ambulances  and  most  of  artillery  to  cross 
pontoons  above;  troops  and  artillery  on  Folk's  line  on  railroad  and 
small  trestle  bridge;  an  hour  occupied  in  giving  orders,  etc.,  and  all 
dispersed,  going  to  their  headquarters.  We  rode  in;  wagons  not 
brought  over.  After  writing  dispatches  .  .  .  lay  down  (sleeping  on 
porch  of  house  in  rear  of  Selden's  battery) ;  waked  by  noise  —  firing, 
confusion,  etc. ;  saddle  and  mount.  General  Loring  comes  up;  all  ride 
to  roadside  at  foot  of  Selden's  battery,  passing  through  Hindman's 
column,  going  to  railroad  bridge.  Cheatham's  pass  from  his  line 
over  small  trestle  bridge  below.  Night  cloudy.  Firing  of  musketry 
and  small  arms  on  Hood's  line,  which  was  rapid  and  continuous  on 
first  waking,  decreased.  These  troops  (Cheatham's  and  Hood's)  did 
not  seem  at  all  alarmed,  rather  noisy  and  in  very  good  humour. 
Enemy's  line  on  river  remarkably  quiet.  .  .  .  Near  Calhoun,  5.30 
P.M.  Order  given  to  send  wagons  back  one  mile  and  a  half  south  of 
Adairsville.  6.30  P.M.  Our  wagons  parking;  saddling. 

"Tuesday,  May  17.  We  reached  Adairsville  just  before  day,  a 
little  ahead  of  troops.  Cultivated,  rolling  country  from  Resaca  to 
Adairsville." 

Edward  Gary  lay,  not  in  the  hospital  that  was  raided,  but  in  a 
house  in  the  village.  It  was  a  fairly  large  house,  and  upstairs  and 
down  it  was  filled  with  the  wounded.  The  surgeons  and  the  village 
women  had  their  hands  full.  He  lay  quite  conscious,  much  weak 
ened,  but  going  to  recover.  There  were  a  number  of  pallets  in  this 
upper  hall  where  he  had  been  placed.  Officers  and  men  occupied 
them,  some  much  hurt,  others  more  slightly.  A  surgeon  with  a 
woman  to  help  went  from  bed  to  bed.  The  more  frightful  cases  were 
downstairs,  and  from  that  region  there  came  again  and  again  a  wail 
ing  cry  from  flesh  and  blood  and  bone  under  probe  and  saw.  Out  of 
doors  the  sun  shone  hot,  and  in  at  the  open,  unshaded  windows  came 
a  dull  sound  of  firing.  The  flies  were  bad.  Two  girls  with  palm-leaf 
fans,  moving  from  pallet  to  pallet,  struggled  with  them  as  best  they 
might,  but  in  the  blood  and  glare  and  heat  they  settled  again.  The 
wounded  moved  their  heads  from  side  to  side,  fought  them  away 


THE   GUNS  283 

with  their  hands.  Desiree  came  up  the  stairs  and  into  the  hall.  She 
had  hanging  at  her  waist  a  pair  of  scissors,  and  in  her  arms  a  bolt  of 
something  dusty-white.  Unrolled  at  the  stairhead,  and  cut  swiftly 
into  lengths,  it  proved  to  be  mosquito  netting.  "  I  found  it  in  a  little 
store  here.  They  did  n't  know  they  had  it." 

The  hot,  bright  morning  went  on.  Outside  the  firing  swelled  and 
sank  and  swelled  again.  Sometimes  it  sounded  far  away,  sometimes 
as  though  it  were  in  the  street  below.  The  less  injured,  the  reason 
ably  comfortable,  listened  with  feverish  interest.  "On  the  right 
again!  —  Stevenson  and  Stewart  have  had  the  brunt.  —  No!  that 's 
centre  now.  —  Cleburne,  I  think.  He 's  a  good  one !  Who 's  passing 
through  the  street  below?  Old  Joe?  Give  him  a  cheer,  whoever 's 
got  a  voice!" 

The  morning  wore  on  to  hot  noon.  The  village- women  had  fur 
nished  kettlefuls  of  broth  that  stony  necessity  made  very  thin.  Such 
as  it  was,  it  tasted  good  to  the  wounded  who  could  eat  and  drink. 
For  those  who  turned  moaningly  away  their  comrades  had  the  divin- 
est  pity.  "  Poor  fellow !  he 's  badly  off !  I  reckon  he 's  going  to  die  — 
Do  you  remember,  at  Baker's  Creek,  how  he  fought  that  gun  all 
alone?" 

Hot  noon  wore  into  sultry  afternoon.  The  sun  went  behind  a 
smooth  pall  of  greyish  cloud.  His  going  did  not  lessen  the  heat; 
there  was  no  air,  a  kind  of  breathless  oppression.  In  the  midst  of  it, 
and  during  what  seemed  a  three-quarter  circle  of  firing,  north,  east, 
and  west,  surgeons  and  orderlies  appeared  in  the  upper  hall.  "  We  Ve 
got  to  move  you  folk!  Yankees  marching  on  Calhoun  and  so's  the 
Army  of  Tennessee.  Six  miles  by  rail  and  the  wagons  are  ready  to 
take  you  to  the  station.  Cheer  up,  now!  the  whole  Western  Atlan 
tic  's  reserved  for  us!" 

The  crowded  wagons  drew  off,  each  in  a  dust-cloud.  They  jolted, 
the  straw  was  thin  in  the  bottom.  The  wounded  tried  to  set  their 
teeth,  but  many  failed  and  there  were  groans  enough.  The  surgeon, 
riding  at  the  end  of  the  wagon,  kept  up  a  low,  practised,  cheerful 
talk,  and  some  of  the  less  hurt  helped  as  best  they  might  the  others. 
Desiree,  because  her  eyes  were  so  appealing,  because  she  expected  to 
go  and  said  as  much,  was  given  place  upon  the  bed  of  one  of  the 
larger  wagons.  She  sat,  curled  up  upon  the  straw,  Edward's  head 
upon  her  lap,  her  bent  knee  and  the  softness  of  her  skirt  easing,  too, 


284  CEASE  FIRING 

the  position  of  a  grizzled  lieutenant  with  a  bullet  through  his  cheek. 
The  line  of  wagons  jolted  through  the  dust  to  the  station,  where  was 
the  weary,  rusty  engine,  and  the  weary,  dingy  cars.  Six  miles  over 
that  roadbed  with  green  wood  for  fuel,  with  stalling  and  hesitations 
and  pauses  for  examination,  meant  a  ride  of  an  hour. 

From  some  of  the  cars  all  the  seats  had  been  removed;  others  had 
seats  at  one  end,  while  two  thirds  of  the  flooring  was  bare.  The 
badly  hurt  were  laid  in  rows  upon  the  planks;  those  less  injured 
were  given  the  seats,  two,  sometimes  three,  to  a  bench;  others  with 
bandaged  arms  and  heads  must  stand.  Every  box-on-wheels  was 
crowded,  noisy,  hot,  of  necessity  dirty,  of  necessity  evil-smelling. 
The  cars  and  their  burden  made  the  best  of  it ;  there  was  much  suf 
fering  but  no  whining.  The  engine  wheezed  and  puffed,  the  wheels 
moved,  the  train  rolled  southward  out  of  Resaca.  The  more  lively 
of  the  passengers,  who  were  by  windows,  talked  for  the  benefit  of 
the  others.  "  Troops  moving  on  both  roads  —  everybody  getting  in 
column  —  quiet  and  orderly  —  Old  Joe  fashion !  Still  firing  on  the 
fringe  of  things  —  regular  battle-cloud  over  on  our  right!  —  Going 
to  cross  the  river!  Pretty  river  and  pretty  name  for  it.  —  Rivers 
and  mountains  —  I've  learned  more  geography  in  this  war!" 

The  train  creaked  and  wavered  across  the  Oostenaula.  At  the 
station  some  one  had  given  a  wounded  officer  a  newspaper  procured 
from  headquarters  —  a  three-days'  old  issue  of  a  Milledgeville  paper. 
The  officer  had  both  eyes  bandaged  across,  and  the  man  beside  him 
could  not  read  aloud  because  his  wound  was  in  the  throat.  A  third, 
sitting  on  the  floor,  propped  against  the  side  of  the  car,  tried,  but 
after  he  had  read  the  headline  he  said  that  the  letters  all  ran  to 
gether.  The  headline  had  said  "GREAT  BATTLE  IN  VIRGINIA"  and 
the  car  —  that  part  of  it  which  was  at  all  at  ease  enough  to  listen  — 
wanted  to  hear.  Desiree,  standing  beside  Edward,  took  the  paper 
and  read  aloud.  Her  voice  was  sweet  and  deep  and  clear  as  a 
bell. 

"  From  Richmond.  There  has  been  a  great  battle  in  the  Wilderness  —  " 

"The  Wilderness!  Like  Chancellorsville  — " 

" General  Grant  crossed  on  the  fourth  to  the  south  side  of  Rapidan. 
We  met  them  on  the  fifth.  The  battle  raged  all  day  with  varying  success, 
but  when  darkness  fell  the  honours  remained  with  us  — " 

"Hip  — hip  — hooray!" 


THE  GUNS  285 

"At  dawn  the  attack  was  renewed,  and  this  day  saw  also  a  bloody 
struggle.  General  Longstreet,  we  regret  to  report  was  severely  wounded — " 

"Old  Pete!  How  he  struck  at  Chickamauga ! " 

"At  sunset  Gordon  of  EwelVs  attacked  the  enemy's  right  flank  with 
such  fury  that  he  drove  him  for  a  mile,  capturing  his  entrenchments  and 
a  great  number  of  prisoners.  Darkness  closed  the  battle.  Our  loss  very 
heavy,  the  enemy's  much  greater.  As  we  go  to  press  we  learn  that  on  the 
eighth  Grant  began  to  move  toward  Spottsyhania  Court-Housed 

"The  eighth!  A  week  ago!  Is  that  all  it  says?" 

"There  is  nothing  more  from  Virginia.  But  here  is  a  letter  from 
Ripley,  Mississippi.  Forrest  has  been  through  that  place,  the  enemy 
after  him  — " 

"Read  that!" 

On  creaked  the  slow  train,  past  the  windows  unrolled  the  Georgia 
countryside,  and  where  one  saw  a  road  one  saw  grey  troops,  grey 
infantry,  grey  artillery,  grey  wagon-trains,  all  moving  with  the  train 
of  the  wounded,  moving  deeper  into  Georgia,  moving  toward 
Atlanta.  They  moved  nor  fast  nor  slow,  and  if  it  was  an  army  in 
retreat  it  did  not  look  the  role.  On  went  the  train,  in  the  heat,  with 
the  wounded.  No  sun  tormented,  but  the  pall  of  the  clouds  held  in 
the  heat.  There  had  been  two  buckets  of  water  to  each  car,  but  the 
water  gave  out  before  they  had  been  fifteen  minutes  from  Resaca. 

Hardee's  corps,  reaching  Calhoun,  moved  by  Johnston's  orders 
out  upon  the  Rome  road  to  where  was  met  the  Snake  Creek  Gap 
road  to  Adairsville,  upon  which  road  the  enemy  was  advancing. 
Here  Hardee  deployed,  formed  a  line,  and  held  the  blue  in  check 
while  the  remainder  of  the  grey  came  up.  Joe  Wheeler,  in  the  rear, 
retarded  all  advance  from  Resaca  itself.  The  blue  passage  of  the 
Oostenaula  met,  too,  with  certain  delays.  Sherman,  moving  from 
Dalton  behind  Rocky  Face  to  cut  the  grey  lines  at  Resaca,  found 
the  Army  of  Tennessee  there  before  him.  Moving  now  behind 
Oostenaula  to  come  upon  the  rear  of  the  grey  at  Calhoun,  he  found 
himself,  as  at  Resaca,  again  face  to  face. 

Back  in  front  of  Resaca,  under  the  darkening  sky,  upon  the 
mound  in  front  of  Stevenson's  line,  above  the  ravine  which  had  filled 
with  a  blue  host,  stood  yet  the  four  guns  which  had  been  cut  off 
early  in  the  day.  "I  covered  the  disputed  battery  with  my  fire," 
says  Stevenson,  "in  such  a  manner  that  it  was  utterly  impossible  for 


286  CEASE   FIRING 

the  enemy  to  remove  it,  and  I  knew  that  I  could  retake  it  at  any 
time,  but  thought  it  could  be  done  with  less  loss  of  life  at  night,  and 
therefore  postponed  my  attack.  When  ordered  to  retire  I  represented 
the  state  of  things  to  the  general  commanding,  who  decided  to  aban 
don  the  guns."  And  says  Hood:  "During  the  attack  on  General 
Stevenson  a  four-gun  battery  was  in  position  thirty  paces  in  front 
of  his  line,  the  gunners  being  driven  from  it  and  the  battery  left  in 
dispute.  The  army  withdrew  that  night,  and  the  guns,  without 
caissons  or  limber-boxes,  were  abandoned  to  the  enemy,  the  loss  of 
life  it  would  have  cost  to  withdraw  them  being  considered  worth 
more  than  the  guns." 

These  four  pieces  constituted  the  only  material  lost  or  abandoned 
during  the  seventy  days.  Now  they  stood  there  in  a  row  with  their 
grey  friends  and  comrades  gone,  with  the  blue  rear  guard  not  yet 
come  to  take  them;  stood  there  in  a  solitude  after  throngs,  in  a 
silence  after  sound.  The  sky  was  iron  grey,  the  grass  was  trampled, 
the  dead  lay  upon  the  slope.  The  guns  were  all  alone.  Their  metal 
was  cold,  their  lips  no  longer  red;  they  stood  like  four  sentinels 
frozen  in  death.  They  stood  high,  against  the  wide  and  livid  heaven. 
The  cloudy  day  declined;  the  night  came  dark  and  close,  and  into  its 
vastness  the  guns  sank  and  disappeared  like  the  guns  of  an  injured 
ship  at  sea. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE   WILDERNESS 

IT  might  have  been  guessed  from  the  first,"  said  Cleave.  "Only, 
fortunately  or  unfortunately,  mankind  never  makes  such 
guesses.  Given,  with  all  our  talk  to  the  contrary,  North  and 
South,  a  common  stock,  with  common  qualities,  common  intensities 
of  purpose;  then  given  the  division  of  the  whole  into  two  parts,  two 
thirds  of  the  mass  on  that  side  of  the  line,  one  third  on  this;  then, 
in  addition,  push  to  the  larger  side  manufacturing  towns  and  the 
control  of  the  sea  —  and  it  ought  not  to  have  taken  an  eagle's  vision 
to  see  on  which  side  the  dice  would  fall." 

Allan  pondered  it.  "There  have  been  times  from  the  beginning 
-  from  First  Manassas  on  —  when  we  lacked  little  of  winning. 
A  very  little  more  several  times  and  they  would  have  cried, 
Peace!" 

"That  is  true.  It  was  n't  impossible,  impossible  as  it  looked.  It 
only  was  n't  at  all  probable." 

"And  it  is  less  probable  now  ?" 

"It  is  not  at  all  probable  now." 

The  two  moved  on  in  silence,  Cleave  riding  Dundee,  Allan  walk 
ing  beside  him.  They  were  in  one  of  the  glades  of  the  Wilderness, 
the  Sixty-fifth  bivouacking  at  hand,  Cleave  going  to  brigade  head 
quarters  and  the  scout  joining  him  from  some  by-path.  It  was  sun 
set,  and  a  pink  light  touched  the  Wilderness.  "We  have  come  to  a 
definite  turn,"  said  Cleave,  "or  rather,  we  came  to  it  at  Gettysburg, 
-Gettysburg  and  Vicksburg."  He  looked  about  him.  "A  year 
ago,  we  were  in  this  Wilderness.  I  had  a  cloud  upon  me  that  I  did 
not  know  would  ever  be  lifted  —  a  cloud  upon  me  and  a  sore 
heart."  He  lifted  his  hat  and  rode  bareheaded.  "But  the  light 
upon  this  Wilderness  was  more  rosy  then  than  now." 

Night  fell.  Far  and  wide  rolled  the  Wilderness.  An  odour  rose 
from  the  dwarf  pine  and  oak  and  sweet  gum  and  cedar,  from  the 
earth  and  its  carpet  of  the  leaves  of  old  years,  from  the  dogwood, 


288  CEASE   FIRING 

the  pink  azalea,  and  the  purple  judas-tree,  from  rotting  logs  and 
orange  and  red  fungi,  from  small  marshy  bottoms  where  the  frogs 
were  croaking,  from  the  dry,  out-worn  "poison  fields,"  from  dust 
and  from  mould,  —  a  subtle  odour,  new  as  to-day,  old  as  sandal- 
wood  cut  in  the  East  ten  thousand  years  ago.  Far  and  wide  stretched 
the  Wilderness.  Its  ravines  were  not  deep,  its  hills  were  not  high, 
but  it  had  a  vastness  as  of  the  desert,  where,  neither,  are  the  ravines 
deep  nor  the  hills  high.  The  stars  rimmed  it,  and  a  low  whispering 
wind  went  from  cedar  covert  to  sweet-gum  copse,  from  pine  to  oak, 
from  dogwood  to  judas-tree.  It  lifted  the  dust  from  the  narrow, 
trampled,  hidden  roads  and  powdered  with  it  the  wayside  growth. 
It  murmured  past  the  Tabernacle  Church,  and  the  burned  house 
of  Chancellorsville,  and  Dowdall's  Tavern  and  the  old  Wilderness 
Tavern,  by  Catherine  Furnace  and  along  the  old  Turnpike  and  the 
Plank  Road.  It  bore  with  it  the  usual  sounds  of  the  Wilderness  by 
night  and  it  bore  also,  this  May  as  last  May,  the  hum  of  great  armies, 
not  roused  yet,  not  furiously  battling,  but  murmurous  —  a  dreamy, 
not  unrestful  sound  adding  itself  to  the  region's  natural  voice. 

A  group  of  officers,  sitting  by  the  embers  of  a  camp-fire,  listened 
to  the  two  voices,  and  watched  the  pale  light  along  the  northern 
horizon.  "It's  like  the  lights  of  a  distant  city  over  there." 

"A  hundred  and  forty  thousand  men  make  a  city.  .  .  .  Not  so 
distant  either." 

"Grant!  I  never  met  him  in  the  old  Mexican  days,  —  nor  after 
wards.  He  went  pretty  far  down.  But  I  have  met  a  man  or  two 
who  knew  him,  and  they  liked  him  —  a  bulldog,  reticent,  tenacious 
kind  of  person  — ' 

"Very  good  soldierly  qualities  —  especially  when  backed  by  one 
hundred  and  forty  thousand  men  with  promise  of  all  reinforcements 
needed !  —  Heigho ! ' ' 

"He  had  a  kind  of  rough  chivalry,  also,  —  consideration,  sim 
plicity.  Sincere,  too  — "  He  stirred  the  embers  with  his  scabbard 
point.  "Well!  we've  got  a  job  before  us  now." 

"We've  won,  once  before,  in  this  place." 

"The  fourth  of  May!  Last  fourth  of  May  it  was  Stonewall  Jack 
son  —  lying  over  there  by  Dowdall's  Tavern  —  with  just  a  week  to 
live.  Stuart—" 

"It's  come  to  a  question  of  figures.  If  they  can  keep  on  doubling 


THE   WILDERNESS  289 

us  in  number,  if  they  can  add  and  add  reinforcements  and  we  can 
not,  if  they  have  made  up  their  minds  to  stand  all  the  killing  neces 
sary,  then,  with  a  determined  general,  it  is  not  impossible  that  after 
years  of  trying  they  may  get  between  us  and  Richmond." 

"They  may  eventually.  I  don't  think  they  will  do  it  this  cam 
paign." 

"No.  I  reckon  not—" 

The  group  fell  silent,  looking  out  upon  the  waves  of  wooded  land 
and  the  light  on  the  horizon.  "I  was  through  here,"  said  one  at  last, 
"ten  years  ago.  I  was  riding  with  a  farmer  —  a  young  man  —  and 
I  remember  that  I  said  it  was  like  a  region  that  had  gone  to  sleep 
in  its  cradle  and  never  waked  up,  and  he  said  that  that  was  what 
was  the  matter  with  it  —  that  nothing  ever  happened  here!  I 
wonder — " 

"Don't  wonder.   What 's  the  use  ?" 

"It's  a  strange  world!" 

"Strange!  That's  the  thing  about  the  universe  I  think  of  most 
at  night  —  how  queer  it  is!" 

"Unity!  That's  what  they  teach —  all  the  philosophers!  And 
yet  a  unity  that  tears  its  own  flesh  — 

"Sometimes  unity  does  that  very  thing.  I've  seen  a  man  do  it." 

"Yes,  when  he  was  distraught!" 

"That's  what  I  say.  You  can  nearly  go  mad  at  night,  thinking 
how  mad  we  all  are!" 

"Don't  think.  At  least  not  now.  You  can't  afford  it." 

"I  agree  with  Gary.  There's  a  time  to  think  and  a  time  not  to 
think.  The  less  the  soldier  thinks  the  better." 

"  Think !"  said  Fauquier  Gary .  "  No  one  ever  thinks  in  war.  The 
soldier  looks  at  his  enemy,  and  then  he  looks  at  his  murdering  piece, 
and  then  instinctively  he  discovers  the  best  position  —  or  what 
seems  to  him  the  best  position  —  from  which  to  fire  it.  And  then 
he  reloads,  and  he  looks  again  at  the  enemy,  and  instinct  does  the 
job  for  him  once  more  —  and  so  on,  ad  infinitttm.  But  he  never 
thinks"  He  rose  and  stood,  warming  his  one  hand.  "If  he  did  that, 
you  know,  there 'd  be  no  war!" 

"And  would  that  be  a  good  thing  ?  " 

"It  depends,"  said  Gary,  "on  what  you  call  a  good  thing. — 
Listen !  Jeb  Stuart  and  his  cavalry,  moving  on  the  old  Turnpike  — 


290  CEASE   FIRING 

The  grey  soldiers,  too,  had  their  camp-fires.  The  light  of  these 
flared,  to  the  eyes  of  the  blue,  on  the  southern  horizon.  Here  like 
wise  was  the  effect  of  the  lights  of  a  city  —  a  smaller  city,  a  city  of 
sixty  thousand.  But  when  you  were  actually  back  of  the  pickets, 
in  the  camps,  it  was  not  like  a  city.  It  was  only  dusky  lights  here 
and  there  in  the  midst  of  shadows,  only  camp-fires  in  the  Wilder 
ness.  The  grey  men  scattered  around  them,  resting  after  rapid 
marching,  were  in  an  eve-of-battle  mood.  Eve-of-battle  mood 
meant  tenseness,  sudden  jocularity,  sudden  silences,  a  kind  of  added 
affectionateness  between  brothers  and  intimates,  often  masked  by 
brusqueness,  a  surreptitious  consideration,  a  curious,  involuntary 
"in  honour  preferring  one  another."  Even  among  the  still  at  this 
hour  very  busy  people,  the  generals  cogitating  orders,  the  aides  and 
couriers  standing  waiting  or  setting  out  with  their  messages,  the 
ordnance  train  people,  the  movers  of  guns  from  one  point  to  another, 
the  ambulance  folk,  the  drivers  of  belated  wagons,  the  cavalry 
patrols,  eve-of-battle  feeling  was  apparent.  But  it  was  most  in  force 
in  the  resting  army.  Eve-of-battle  mood  had  many  ingredients. 
Among  them  was  to  be  found  in  the  cup  of  many  the  ingredient  of 
fear.  Men  hid  it,  but  it  was  there.  It  fell  on  the  heart  at  inter 
vals,  fell  like  a  cold  finger  tap,  like  the  icy  drop  of  water  falling  at 
intervals,  hour  after  hour,  on  the  brow  of  the  tortured  in  an  old 
dungeon.  When  the  battle  was  here  it  would  disappear;  always  the 
amount  of  it  lessened  in  constant  ratio  to  the  approach  of  the  firing. 
The  first  volley  —  except  in  the  case  of  the  coward  —  dissipated  it 
quite.  With  some  the  drop  was  heavier  and  more  insistent  than 
with  others,  but  there  were  few,  indeed,  who  had  not  at  some  time 
felt  that  cold  and  penetrating  touch.  It  was  only  a  thing  of  in 
tervals;  it  came  and  went,  and  between  its  comings  one  was  gay 
enough.  There  had  long  ago  ceased  the  fear  of  what  it  could  do 
to  one.  It  was  not  pleasant  —  neither  was  sea-sickness  —  but  the 
voyage  would  be  made.  The  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  knew 
that  it  was  going  to  fight.  The  world  knows  that  it  fought  as  have 
fought  few  armies. 

A  company  lying  upon  the  earth  in  a  field  of  cedars  began  to 
sing. 

"We're  tenting  to-night  on  the  old  camp-ground! 
Give  us  a  song  to  cheer  — " 


THE   WILDERNESS  291 

" That's  too  mournful!"  said  a  neighbouring  company.  "Tell 
the  Louisianians  to  sing  the  'Marseillaise.'" 

"Many  are  the  hearts  that  are  weary  to-night! 

Wishing  for  the  war  to  cease; 
Many  are  the  hearts  that  are  looking  for  the  right, 
To  see  the  dawn  of  peace. 

"  Tenting  to-night,  tenting  to-night, 

Tenting  on  the  old  camp-ground.  .  .  ." 

As  always,  eve-of-battle,  there  was  going  on  a  certain  redding  up. 
Those  who  had  haversacks  plunged  deep  within  them,  gathered 
certain  trifles  together  and  tied  them  into  a  small  bundle  with  a 
pencilled  direction.  Diaries  were  brought  up  very  neatly  and  care 
fully  to  date.  Entries  closed  with  "Battle  to-morrow!"  or  with 
"This  time  to-morrow  night  much  will  have  happened";  or  some 
times  with  such  things  as  "Made  up  my  quarrel  with  Wilson 
to-day";  or  "Returned  the  book  I  borrowed  from  Selden";  or 
"  Read  a  psalm  and  a  chapter  to-day  " ;  or  "  Wrote  home."  Eve-of- 
battle  saw  many  letters  written.  There  was  a  habit,  too,  of  destroy 
ing  letters  received  and  garnered.  Here  and  there  a  man  sat  upon 
a  log  and  tore  into  little  bits  old,  treasured  sheets.  The  flecks  lay 
like  snow  upon  the  earth  of  the  Wilderness. 

"We're  tired  of  war  on  the  old  camp-ground 
Many  are  dead  and  gone.  .  .  . 

"We're  tenting  to-night  on  the  old  camp-ground,  .  .  . 

Tenting  to-night,  tenting  to-night. 
Tenting  to-night  on  the  old  camp-ground." 

All  the  spirit  of  this  army  was  graver  than  it  had  been  a  year  ago, 
than  it  had  been  six  months  ago.  During  the  past  winter  a  strong 
religious  fervour  had  swept  it.  This  evening,  in  the  Wilderness,  in 
many  a  command  there  was  prayer  and  singing  of  hymns.  Swaths 
of  earth,  black  copses  of  cedar  and  gum,  divided  one  congregation 
from  another.  One  was  singing  while  another  prayed;  the  hymns 
were  different,  but  the  wide  night  had  room  for  all  —  for  the 
hymns  and  for  "Tenting  to-night,"  and  for  the  "Marseillaise" 
which  now  Hays's  Louisianians  were  singing.  All  blended  into  some 
thing  piteous,  something  old  and  touching,  and  of  a  dim  nobility. 
The  pickets  out  in  the  deep  night  listened. 


292  CEASE   FIRING 

"Just  as  I  am,  without  one  plea 

Save  that  thy  blood  was  shed  for  me, 
And  that  Thou  bid'st  me  come  to  thee, 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come,  I  come!" 

A  soldier,  standing  picket  and  hearing  the  singing  behind  a  dusky 
wave  of  earth,  had  his  doubts.  "If  we  really  come  to  him  —  if  the 
Yankees  over  there  really  came  to  him  —  if  we  both  came,  why,  — 
there  would  n't  be  any  battle  to-morrow.  .  .  .  Seeing  that  he  said, 
'Love  your  enemy'  —  which  if  everybody  did  presently  there 'd 
be  no  enemy  —  no  more  than  an  icicle  in  the  sun."  He  sighed  and 
shifted  his  musket.  "They  think  they  mean  what  they're  singing, 
but  they  don't—" 

Relieved,  he  sought  his  mess  and  the  corner  of  leaves  and  boughs 
in  which  they  meant  to  sleep.  Before  lying  down  he  spoke  to  the 
man  next  him.  "John,  I've  got  a  letter  and  a  little  bit  of  package 
here  that  I  want  you  to  keep.  I  am  going  to  be  killed  to-morrow." 

"No,  you  ain't!" 

"Yes,  lam.  I  am  positively  certain  of  it.  I  am  going  to  be  killed 
about  noon." 

"You've  just  got  one  of  those  darned  presentiments,  and  half 
the  time  they  don't  come  to  nothing!" 

"This  one  will.  You  take  the  letter  and  the  little  bit  of  pack 
age.  I  am  going  to  be  killed  to-morrow,  about  noon."  And  he  was 
killed. 

Night  grew  old.  The  flare  of  the  cities  sank  away;  tattoo  beat, 
then,  after  a  little,  taps.  The  Wilderness  lay  awake.  She  com 
muned  with  her  own  heart.  But  the  men  whom  she  harboured 
slept.  Night  passed,  the  stars  paled,  pure  and  cool  and  fresh  came 
on  the  dawn  —  wild  roses  in  the  east,  in  a  field  of  forget-me-not 
blue.  Shrill  and  sweet,  near  and  remote,  a  thousand  bugles  blew 
reveille  in  the  Wilderness. 

Ewell  and  A.  P.  Hill  moved  westward,  deeper  into  the  Wilderness. 
Longstreet,  marching  from  the  south  side  of  the  James,  was  not 
yet  up,  though  known  to  be  approaching.  About  breakfast  time  an 
artillery  officer  came  upon  a  small  fire,  and  bending  over  it,  stiffly, 
being  wooden-legged,  General  Ewell,  a  first-rate  cook  and  proud  of 
it.  He  insisted  on  giving  the  other  a  cup  of  coffee. 

"Is  there  any  objection,  sir,"  said  the  officer,  after  drinking,  "to 
our  knowing  what  are  orders  ?" 


THE   WILDERNESS 


2  93 


"  No,  sir,  —  none  at  all,  —  just  the  orders  I  like !  To  go  right  down 
the  Plank  Road  and  strike  the  enemy  wherever  I  find  him!" 

He  found  him,  in  the  person  of  the  Fifth  Corps,  near  Locust 
Grove,  at  the  noon  hour.  The  battle  of  the  Wilderness  began,  —  a 
vast  infantry  battle,  fought  in  thick  woods,  woods  so  thick  that  in 
those  coverts  of  dwarf  pine  and  oak  artillery  could  not  be  used,  so 
thick  that  an  officer  could  not  see  his  whole  line,  so  thick  that  the 
approach  of  troops  was  often  known  only  by  the  noise  of  their  move 
ment  through  the  scrub,  or,  as  night  came  down,  by  the  light  from 
the  mouths  of  the  muskets.  This  was  the  battle  of  the  first  day,  and 
it  was  long  and  sanguinary  and  indecisive.  Corps  of  Ewell  and  Hill 
—  corps  of  Hancock  and  Warren  and  Sedgwick  fought  it.  Ewell 
gained  and  held  an  advantage,  but  Wilcox  and  Heth  of  Hill's  had 
a  desperate,  exhausting  struggle  with  Hancock's  men.  Poague's 
battalion  of  artillery  strove  to  help,  but  artillery  in  the  Wilderness 
could  do  little.  Six  divisions  charged  Heth  and  Wilcox.  They  held 
their  own,  but  they  barely  held  it.  When  darkness  fell  and  the  thun 
ders  were  stilled  there  came  a  promise  that  during  the  night  they 
should  be  relieved.  Resting  upon  it,  they  built  a  rude  breastwork, 
and  then,  worn  out,  dropped  upon  the  earth  and  slept. 

Lee  sent  a  courier  on  a  swift  horse  to  meet  Longstreet  and  order 
a  night  march.  At  one  o'clock  of  a  starlit  night  the  latter  took  the 
road,  and  at  daylight  of  the  sixth  he  came  to  Parker's  Store,  on  the 
edge  of  the  Wilderness,  three  miles  behind  Hill's  line  of  battle,  and 
as  he  came  he  heard  the  roar  of  battle  upon  this  front. 

Hancock  fell  in  the  grey  light  on  Heth  and  Wilcox.  The  Wilder 
ness  echoed  the  musketry  and  the  shouting.  It  wras  a  furious  on 
slaught,  for  a  time  a  furious  answer  —  and  then  Wilcox's  line,  ex 
hausted,  decimated,  broke  and  rolled  in  confusion  down  the  Orange 
Plank  Road.  When  the  men  reached  Poague's  artillery  they  made 
a  wavering  stand.  The  guns,  crashing  into  battle,  did  what  they 
might  to  help.  But  Hancock's  shouting  lines  came  on.  A  furious 
musketry  fire  burst  in  the  face  of  the  guns,  a  leaden  rain  hard  pelt 
ing  from  just  across  the  road,  the  drops  falling  thick  and  fast  among 
the  guns  and  the  gunners  and  a  company  of  mounted  officers 
behind.  The  grey  infantry,  exposed  to  volley  after  volley,  broke 
again;  all  the  place  became  a  troubled  grey  sea,  cross-waves  and 
confusion. 


294 


CEASE   FIRING 


Lee  rode  out  from  the  group  of  officers.  "Rally,  men,  rally!"  he 
cried.  "  General  Longstreet  is  coming ! " 

"  O  Marse  Robert  I  0  Marse  Robert  /" 

The  boisterous  rain  came  and  came  again  from  the  coverts  of  the 
Wilderness.  Hancock's  men  shouted  loudly.  They  saw  the  grey 
overthrow.  "Hurrah!  Hurrah!  Hurrah !"  they  shouted. 

Lee  rose  in  his  stirrups.  "  Rally,  Army  of  Northern  Virginia!  — " 

"Longstreet!  Longstreet!" 

Double-column  and  double-time,  Longstreet  came  down  the  Plank 
Road.  Deploying,  Kershaw  came  into  line  under  fire  to  the  right. 
Deploying,  Field  swung  across  on  the  left.  "Charge,  Kershaw!" 
ordered  Longstreet.  Kershaw  charged,  and  flung  back  the  shouting 
blue  advance;  Field,  on  the  left,  advancing  at  a  run,  swept  past  the 
smoking  guns  and  Lee,  sitting  Traveller.  Gregg's  Texans  were  in 
front.  "General  Lee!  General  Lee!"  they  shouted.  Lee  lifted  his 
hat,  and  then  he  spurred  grey  Traveller  and  kept  beside  the  Texans. 

"  He 's  going  in  with  them ! "  exclaimed  an  aide.  "  He  must  n't  do 
that!" 

Gregg  turned  his  head.  "General  Lee,  you  must  n't  go  with  us! 
We  can't  allow  that,  sir!" 

Now  the  men  saw,  too.  "  Do  you  mean  —  No,  no !  that  won't  do ! 
General  Lee  to  the  rear /" 

"But,  men— " 

There  rose  a  cry.  "  We  won't  go  on  unless  you  go  back !  General 
Lee  to  the  rear!" 

A  man  took  hold  of  Traveller's  bridle  and  turned  him. 

On  dashed  the  Texans  —  eight  hundred  of  them.  They  went  now 
through  open  field,  now  through  pines.  They  struck  Webb's  brigade 
of  Hancock's  corps.  Blue  and  grey,  there  sprang  a  roar  of  musketry. 
Four  hundred  of  the  eight  hundred  fell,  lay  dead  or  wounded;  then 
with  a  loud  and  long  cry  there  swept  to  the  aid  of  Gregg,  Benning's 
Texans,  Georgia,  and  Alabama.  Law  and  Benning  and  Gregg  pushed 
back  the  blue. 

For  hours  it  was  the  tug  of  war.  Blue  and  grey  they  swayed  and 
swung  and  the  Wilderness  howled  with  the  conflict.  Smoke  mounted.4 
The  firing  waxed  until  sound  was  no  more  discrete  but  continuous. 
Although  it  was  not  night  the  Wilderness  grew  dark.  And  beneath 
the  solid  roof  of  smoke  and  sound  men  lay  gasping  on  mother  earth, 


THE   WILDERNESS  295 

dyeing  the  grass  with  their  blood,  plucking  with  their  fingers  at 
strengthless  stems,  putting  out  their  tongues  where  there  was  no 
moisture,  biting  the  dust.  In  the  sick  brain,  to  and  fro,  went  the 
words  "This  is  the  end,"  and  "Why?  0  God,  why?" 

The  blue  left  rested  south  of  the  Plank  Road.  With  four  brigades 
under  Mahone,  Longstreet  began  a  turning  movement.  It  suc 
ceeded.  Mahone  struck  the  blue,  flank  and  rear,  while  Longstreet 
hurled  other  troops  against  their  front.  The  blue  line  crumpled  up, 
surged  in  confusion  back  upon  the  Brock  Road.  The  noise  grew 
heavier,  the  Wilderness  darker. 

And  then  occurred  one  of  those  things  called  coincidences.  One 
year  ago  a  very  great  general  had  been  given  death  in  the  Wilder 
ness  by  a  mistaken  volley  from  his  own  men.  Now  on  this  day  in 
the  Wilderness  a  general,  not  so  great,  but  able,  and  necessary  that 
day  to  the  grey  fortunes,  rode  with  a  brigade  which  he  was  about 
to  place  in  line,  through  the  wood  alongside  the  Plank  Road.  The 
wood  was  thick  and  the  road  wound.  Longstreet,  with  him  Generals 
Jenkins  and  Kershaw,  pressed  forward  through  the  oak  scrub,  torn 
and  veiled  with  smoke,  and  now  in  many  places  afire.  All  the  air 
was  now  so  thick,  it  was  hard  in  that  wild  place  to  tell  friend  from 
foe.  As  had  done  Lane's  North  Carolinians  last  year,  so  this  year 
did  Mahone's  men.  They  saw  or  felt  the  approach  of  a  column, 
whose  colour  they  could  not  see;  some  command  parallel  with  the 
moving  troops  chanced  just  then  to  deliver  fire;  Mahone's  men 
thought  that  the  shots  came  from  the  approaching  body,  hardly 
outlined  as  it  was  in  the  murk.  They  answered  with  a  volley.  Jen 
kins  was  killed,  and  Longstreet  severely  wounded. 

"What  are  you  doing?  What  are  you  doing?"  shouted  Kershaw; 
and  at  last  grey  understood  that  it  was  grey. 

Says  the  artillery  officer,  Robert  Stiles,  who  has  been  quoted 
before:  "I  observed  an  excited  gathering  some  distance  back  of  the 
lines,  and,  pressing  toward  it,  I  heard  that  General  Longstreet  had 
just  been  shot  down  and  was  being  put  into  an  ambulance.  I  could 
not  learn  anything  definite  as  to  the  character  of  his  wound,  but 
only  that  it  was  serious  —  some  said  that  he  was  dead.  When  the 
ambulance  moved  off,  I  followed  it  for  a  little  way.  .  .  .  The  mem 
bers  of  his  staff  surrounded  the  vehicle,  some  riding  in  front,  some 
on  one  side  and  some  on  the  other,  and  some  behind.  One,  I  remem- 


296  CEASE   FIRING 

ber,  stood  upon  the  rear  step  of  the  ambulance,  seeming  to  desire 
to  be  as  near  him  as  possible.  I  never  on  any  occasion  during  the 
four  years  of  the  war  saw  a  group  of  officers  and  gentlemen  more 
deeply  distressed.  They  were  literally  bowed  down  with  grief.  All 
of  them  were  in  tears.  One,  by  whose  side  I  rode  for  some  distance, 
was  himself  severely  hurt,  but  he  made  no  allusion  to  his  wound, 
and  I  do  not  believe  that  he  felt  it.  ...  I  rode  up  to  the  ambulance 
and  looked  in.  They  had  taken  off  Longstreet's  hat  and  coat  and 
boots.  The  blood  had  paled  out  of  his  face,  and  its  somewhat  gross 
aspect  was  gone.  I  noticed  how  white  and  dome-like  his  great  fore 
head  looked  and,  with  scarcely  less  reverent  admiration,  how  spot 
less  white  his  socks,  and  his  fine  gauze  undervest,  save  where  the 
black  red  gore  from  his  breast  and  shoulder  had  stained  it.  .  .  .  His 
eyelids  frayed  apart  till  I  could  see  a  delicate  line  of  blue  between 
them,  and  then  he  very  quietly  moved  his  unwounded  arm,  and  with 
his  thumb  and  two  fingers  carefully  lifted  the  saturated  undershirt 
from  his  chest,  holding  it  up  a  moment,  and  heaved  a  deep  sigh." 

The  grey  attack,  disorganized  by  Longstreet's  fall,  hung  in  the 
wind,  until  Lee  came  up  and  led  it  on.  But  time  had  been  lost,  and 
though  much  was  done,  it  was  not  that  which  might  have  been  done. 
The  blue  were  behind  long  lines  of  log  breastworks  on  the  Brock 
Road.  Again  and  again  the  grey  beat  against  these.  At  times  they 
took  this  work  or  that,  but  could  not  hold  it.  Along  the  front  of  one 
command  the  breastwork  caught  fire.  The  blue  fought  to  put  it  out, 
but  could  not ;  flame  and  smoke  made  a  barrier  alike  to  grey  or  blue. 
On  the  Plank  Road,  Burnside  fell  upon  Law's  Alabamians  and  a 
Florida  brigade,  but  Heth  came  up  and  with  Alabama  and  Florida 
thrust  back  Burnside.  At  sunset,  though  the  sun  could  not  be  seen 
in  the  Wilderness,  Ewell  flung  Gordon  with  Pegram  and  Hays 
against  the  Federal  right.  The  assault  was  well  planned  and  deter 
mined  to  desperation.  The  blue  right  was  driven  as  had  been  the 
blue  left  in  the  morning.  The  sun  sank,  black  night  came,  and  the 
battle  closed.  There  lay  in  the  Wilderness  perhaps  two  thousand 
dead  in  grey  and  five  thousand  wounded.  There  lay  in  the  Wilder 
ness  more  than  two  thousand  dead  in  blue  and  twelve  thousand 
wounded.  There  were  three  thousand  in  blue  captured  or  missing. 
There  were  fifteen  hundred  grey  prisoners. 

Night  was  not  so  black  in  all  parts  of  the  Wilderness.  In  parts  it 


THE  WILDERNESS  297 

was  fearfully  red.  The  Wilderness  was  afire.  Pine  and  oak  scrub 
and  the  dry  leaves  beneath  and  the  sedge  in  open  places,  —  they 
flared  like  tow.  They  flared  where  the  battle  had  been  fought;  they 
flared  where  were  the  wounded.  Here  and  there  in  the  Wilderness 
arose  a  horrible  crying.  Volunteers  and  volunteers,  blue  and  grey, 
companies  of  volunteers,  plunged  into  the  smoke,  among  the  red 
tongues.  They  did  what  the  fire  would  let  them  do.  They  brought 
out  many  and  many  and  many.  But  an  unknown  number  of  hun 
dreds  were  burned  to  death. 

All  day  the  seventh  they  skirmished.  The  night  of  the  seventh 
the  blue,  weary  of  the  Wilderness,  moved  with  swiftness  southeast 
toward  Spottsylvania  Court-House.  "Get  so  between  him  and 
Richmond,"  said  Grant,  as  at  Dal  ton  Sherman  was  saying,  "  Get  so 
between  him  and  Atlanta."  But  as  Johnston  moved  on  inner  lines 
and  with  more  swiftness  than  Sherman,  so  Lee  moved  on  inner  lines 
and  with  more  swiftness  than  Grant.  Flexible  as  a  Toledo  blade 
was  the  grey  army.  With  the  noise  of  the  blue  column  on  the  Brock 
Road  sprang  almost  simultaneously  the  sound  of  the  grey  column 
moving  cross-country  and  then  by  the  Shady  Grove  Road.  Grant, 
bent  on  "swinging  past"  Lee,  came  to  Spottsylvania  in  the  bright 
morning  light  of  the  eighth  of  May,  to  find  Jeb  Stuart  drawn  across 
the  Brock  Road;  behind  him  the  First  Corps. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

THE    BLOODY   ANGLE 

ROUGHLY  speaking,  the  Confederate  position  in  the  three  days' 
battle  of  Spottsylvania— -country  of  Alexander  Spottswood, 
sometime  periwigged  Governor  of  the  Colony  of  Virginia  — 
was  a  great  reversed  V,  the  apex  turned  northward,  the  base  laved 
by  the  river  Po,  the  First  Corps  holding  the  western  face,  the  Sec 
ond  Corps  the  eastern,  the  Third  Corps  at  first  in  reserve,  but  after 
wards  sufficiently  involved,  Lee  himself  at  Spottsylvania  Court- 
House,  just  within  the  eastern  line.  The  country  was  a  rough  one 
of  oak  and  pine,  though  not  so  densely  wooded  as  the  Wilderness, 
the  weather  upon  the  ninth  and  tenth  dazzlingly  hot  and  dusty, 
the  eleventh  and  twelfth  days  of  fog  and  streaming  rain.  It  was 
a  strong  position. 

On  May  eighth,  the  two  antagonists  entrenched  themselves,  made 
their  dispositions  and  placed  their  batteries.  On  May  ninth,  there 
was  much  skirmishing,  heavy  enough  at  times  to  be  called  an  en 
gagement.  On  this  day,  on  the  blue  side,  there  was  killed  General 
Sedgwick.  From  the  beginning  of  the  campaign,  Jeb  Stuart  had 
most  seriously  interfered  with  the  blue  host.  On  the  eighth,  Grant 
ordered  Sheridan  to  strike  out  independently  for  Richmond  and  so 
draw  Stuart  away  from  the  field  of  Spottsylvania.  At  sunrise  on 
the  ninth,  Sheridan  and  ten  thousand  horsemen  took  the  Tele 
graph  Road  that  stretched  from  Fredericksburg  to  Richmond. 
At  sundown  they  came  to  Beaver  Dam  Station  and  the  Virginia 
Central  Railroad.  Here  they  captured  a  trainload  of  wounded 
and  prisoners  on  the  way  from  Spottsylvania  to  Richmond.  Here 
they  released  three  hundred  and  seventy  Federal  captives,  and 
here  they  set  fire  to  all  trains  and  buildings  and  tore  up  the  rail 
road  track  and  made  birds'  nests  of  the  telegraph  wires.  And  here 
they  heard  Stuart  on  their  heels.  On  the  tenth,  they  crossed  the 
South  Anna  at  Ground  Squirrel  Bridge,  not  without  skirmishing. 
At  night  Stuart's  shells  rained  into  their  camps.  On  the  eleventh, 


THE  BLOODY   ANGLE  299 

one  blue  brigade  had  an  encounter  with  Munford  at  Ashland  while 
the  main  force  swept  on  to  Glen  Allen.  Here  they  met  Stuart's 
strong  skirmish  line,  and,  driving  it  in  at  last,  came  to  Yellow 
Tavern,  six  miles  from  Richmond. 

Back  in  Spottsylvania,  all  day  the  tenth  of  May  there  was  right 
ing,  righting  by  the  river  Po,  between  Heth's  division  and  troops  of 
Hancock,  artillery  work  and  skirmishing  along  all  lines;  in  the  after 
noon  a  great  blue  assault,  desperately  repelled.  The  Federal  loss 
this  day  was  four  thousand,  the  Confederate,  two  thousand. 

The  eleventh  saw  a  lull,  a  still  and  oppressive  pause  in  things. 
The  blue  made  a  reconnoissance,  much  interfered  with  by  grey 
sharpshooters,  but  a  reconnoissance  big  with  results.  What  had  been 
cloudy  knowledge  became  clear;  there  sprang  into  intense  light  a 
thing  that  might  be  done.  That  night  the  Federal  Second  and  Ninth 
Corps  slept  on  their  arms  in  a  sheltering  wood  a  thousand  yards  and 
more  from  the  salient  that  marked  the  grey  centre,  from  the  narrow 
part  of  the  V,  held  by  Edward  Johnson's  division  of  Ewell's  corps. 

All  day  the  eleventh  the  grey  had  strengthened  breastworks  and 
made  inner  lines.  There  was  a  fine,  slow  rain,  and  the  mist  of  it, 
added  to  the  smoke  from  the  burning  forest  and  the  clouds  from  the 
cannon  mouth,  made  a  dull,  obscuring  atmosphere.  In  the  after 
noon  came  with  positiveness  the  statement  of  a  reconnoitring  party. 
A  blue  column,  in  motion  southward,  had  been  observed  to  cross  the 
Po.  At  the  same  time  arrived  a  message  from  Early.  "  Certainly 
some  movement  of  the  enemy  to  the  left."  Now  another  flank  move 
ment  of  Grant's,  another  attempt  to  "swing  past,"  another  effort 
to  get  between  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  and  Richmond  was 
so  probable,  so  entirely  on  the  cards,  that  Lee  accepted  the  report 
as  correct  and  prepared  to  act  accordingly.  He  prepared  to  move 
during  the  night  that  supple,  mobile  army  of  his,  and  in  speed  and 
silence  again  to  lay  it  across  Grant's  road.  Among  other  orders  he 
sent  one  to  his  artillery  chiefs.  All  guns  on  the  left  and  centre  that 
might  be  "difficult  of  access"  were  to  be  withdrawn  at  nightfall. 
So,  later,  they  would  be  ready  to  come  swiftly  and  noiselessly  into 
column.  Having  received  the  order,  Ewell's  chief  of  artillery  re 
moved  all  guns  from  the  high  and  broken  ground  at  the  point  of  the 
V.  Toward  midnight  Lee  received  assurance  that  the  blue  move 
ment  across  the  Po  had  been  but  a  reconnoissance.  Mahone  and 


300  CEASE   FIRING 

Wilcox,  whom  he  had  sent  toward  Shady  Grove,  were  recalled,  and 
the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  prepared  to  meet  on  this  ground  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac.  Certain  orders  were  countermanded,  certain 
others  given.  But  through  some  negligence  or  other  the  order  to 
restore  to  their  original  position  the  guns  "difficult  of  access"  did 
not  that  night  reach  the  proper  officers.  When  the  first  pallid  light 
came  into  the  sky  the  guns  were  away  from  the  salient,  the  point 
of  the  V.  And  a  thousand  yards  in  the  forest  lay,  on  their  arms, 
waiting  for  the  dawn,  the  Second  and  Ninth  Army  Corps. 

The  salient  —  for  hundreds  of  yards  it  thrust  itself  out  toward 
the  blue,  like  a  finger  pointing  from  a  clenched  hand.  And  the  finger 
nail  was  the  Bloody  Angle. 

Billy  Maydew,  rising  from  the  wet  earth  at  four  o'clock,  found 
that  the  rain  was  coming  down  and  the  world  was  wrapped  in  fog. 
"Thunder  Run  Mountain  can't  see  Peaks  of  Otter  this  morning!'1 
he  said.  He  stood  up,  tall  and  lean  and  twenty-one,  and  stretched 
himself.  "Hope  grandpap  and  the  dawgs  air  setting  comfortable 
by  the  fire!" 

Certainly  the  Stonewall  Brigade,  Johnson's  division,  EwelPs 
corps,  was  not  warm  and  comfortable.  Felled  wet  trees  did  as  well 
for  breastwork  and  traverse  and  abatis  as  dry,  but  they  were  not  so 
good  for  camp-fires.  The  fires  this  streaming  break-of-day  were  a 
farce.  The  ground  behind  the  breastworks  was  rough  and  now  very 
muddy,  and  the  great  number  of  stumps  of  trees  had  a  dismal  look. 
Where  a  fire  was  kindled  the  smoke  refused  to  rise,  but  clung  dark, 
thick,  and  suffocating.  The  air  struck  shiveringly  cold,  and  the 
woods  north  and  east  and  west  of  the  sharp  salient  were  as  invisible 
as  a  fog-mantled  coast.  Billy,  standing  high  in  the  angle's  narrowest 
part,  had  a  curious  feeling.  He  had  never  been  on  a  ship  or  he  might 
have  thought,  "I  am  driving  fast  into  something  behind  that  fog." 
As  it  was,  he  shook  off  the  slight  dizziness  and  looked  about  him  — 
at  the  thronged  deck  where  everybody  was  trying  to  get  breakfast, 
at  the  long  trenches,  each  side  of  the  salient  and  rounding  the  point, 
at  the  log  and  earth  breastworks  and  the  short  traverses,  at  the 
abatis  of  felled  trees,  branches  outward,  much  like  the  swirl  of  waves 
to  either  side  the  ship's  prow.  He  looked  at  the  parapets  where  the 
guns  had  been,  and  then,  brigade  headquarters'  fire  being  near, 
he  listened  to  an  aide  from  the  division  commander.  "General 


THE   BLOODY   ANGLE  301 

Johnson  says,  sir,  that  he  has  sent  again  for  the  guns,  sent  for  the 
third  time.  They're  coming,  but  the  road  is  frightfully  heavy. 
He  says  the  moment  they  are  here,  get  them  into  position  and 
trained.  In  the  mean  time  keep  the  sharpest  kind  of  lookout." 

Billy  had  not  thought  much  of  it  before,  but  now  it  came  over 
him.  "We  air  in  a  darned  defenceless  position  out  here." 

He  went  back  to  where  his  mess  was  struggling  with  a  fire  not 
big  enough  to  toast  hard-tack.  He  had  hardly  joined  them  when  a 
drum  beat  and  an  order  rang  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  salient. 
Fall  in! 

He  was  down  in  one  of  the  trenches,  the  Sixty-fifth  with  him, 
right  and  left.  Turning  his  head,  he  saw  Cleave  stand  a  moment 
looking  at  the  platforms  where  the  batteries  had  been  and  now 
were  not,  then  walk  along  the  trenches  and  speak  to  the  men. 
Lieutenant  Coffin  he  saw,  too,  slight,  pale,  romantic-looking,  and 
troubled  at  the  moment  because  he  had  unwittingly  stepped  into  a 
mud-hole  which  had  mired  him  above  the  knee.  He  had  a  bit  of 
scrap  iron  and  with  it  was  scraping  the  mud  away,  steadying  him 
self,  shoulder  against  a  tree. 

Billy  smiled.  "Ain't  he  a  funny  mixture?  Hates  a  speck  of  mud 
'most  as  much  as  he  hates  a  greyback !  Funny  when  I  think  of  how 
I  used  to  hate  him ! "  He  looked  along  the  line  and  at  the  companies 
in  reserve  and  at  the  clusters  of  officers,  with  here  or  there  a  solitary 
figure,  and  at  the  regiments  of  the  Stonewall  Brigade,  and  the  other 
brigades  of  Johnson's  division,  and  then  out  through  a  crack  between 
two  logs,  to  the  picket  line  beyond  the  abatis  and  to  the  misty  wood. 
"I  don't  know  that  I  hate  anybody  now,"  said  Billy  aloud. 

"Don't  you?  "  asked  the  man  next  him.  "I  would  n't  be  a  namby- 
pamby  like  that!  I  could  n't  get  along  without  hating,  any  more 
than  I  could  without  tansy  in  the  spring-time!" 

"Oh,  thar  air  times,"  said  Billy  equably,  "when  I  think  I  hate  the 
Yanks." 

"Think!   Don't  you  know ?" 

Billy  was  counting  the  cartridges  in  his  cartridge-box.  "Why," 
he  said  when  he  had  finished,  "  sometimes  of  course  I  hate  them  like 
p'ison  oak.  But  then  thar  air  other  times  when  I  consider  that  — 
according  to  their  newspapers  —  they  hate  me  like  p'ison  oak,  too. 
Now  I  do  a  power  of  wrong  things,  I  know,  but  I  air  not  p'ison  oak. 


CEASE   FIRING 

And  so,  according  to  what  Allan  calls  'logic/  maybe  they  air  not 
p'ison  oak  either.  Thar  was  a  man  in  the  Wilderness.  The  fire  in 
the  scrub  was  coming  enough  to  feel  the  devil  in  it  —  closer  and 
closer.  And  his  spine  was  hurt  and  he  could  n't  move,  and  he  had 
his  shoulder  against  a  log,  one  end  of  which  was  blazing.  He  was 
sitting  there  all  lit  up  by  that  light,  and  he  had  his  musket  butt  up 
and  was  trying  to  beat  out  his  brains.  Me  and  Jim  Watts  got  him 
out,  and  he  was  from  Boston  and  a  young  man  like  me,  and  I  liked 
him  just  as  well  as  ever  I  liked  any  man.  He  put  his  arms  around 
my  neck  and  he  hugged  me  and  cried,  and  I  hugged  him,  too,  and  I 
reckon  I  cried,  too.  And  Jim  and  me  got  him  out  through  the  scrub 
afire.  He  wa'n't  no  p'ison  oak,  no  more  'n  I  were." 

"Well,  what  're  you  fighting  for?" 

"I  am  fighting,"  said  Billy,  "for  the  right  to  secede." 

Out  in  the  fog  a  picket  fired.  Another  and  another  followed. 
There  arose  a  sputter  of  musketry,  then  a  sound  of  voices  and  of 
running  feet,  heavy  on  the  sodden  earth.  In  a  moment  there  was 
commotion,  up  and  down,  within  the  salient.  In  fell  the  pickets  — 
anyhow  —  over  the  breastworks.  "They're  coming!  they're  com 
ing!  All  of  them!  It  looked  like  — !" 

They  came,  Barlow's  division  in  two  lines  of  two  brigades  each 
"closed  in  mass,"  Birney's  division,  Mott's  division,  Gibbon  be 
hind.  Barlow  came  over  an  open  space,  Birney  through  a  wood  of 
stunted  pines  and  by  a  marsh.  Together  they  wrapped  with  fire 
the  extended  finger  that  was  the  salient.  There  rose  a  grey  shouting, 
"  The  guns !  the  guns !  Hasten  the  guns ! ' '  The  guns  were  coming  - 
Page's  and  Cutshaw's  —  the  guns  were  hastening,  coming  in  two 
lines,  twenty-two  guns,  through  the  tangled,  sopping  wood  —  horses 
and  drivers  and  cannoneers  straining  every  nerve.  The  ground  was 
frightful  beneath  foot  and  wheel.  Two  guns  got  up  in  time  to  fire 
three  rounds  into  the  looming  blue.  Then  the  storm  broke,  and  the 
angle  became  the  spot  on  earth  where,  it  is  estimated,  in  all  the  his 
tory  of  the  earth  the  musketry  fire  was  the  heaviest.  It  became 
the  "Bloody  Angle." 

Billy  fired,  bit  a  cartridge,  loaded,  fired,  loaded,  fired,  loaded, 
fired,  and  all  over  and  over  again,  then,  later,  used  his  bayonet, 
then  clubbed  his  musket  and  struck  with  it,  lifted,  struck,  lifted, 


THE  BLOODY  ANGLE 


THE   BLOODY   ANGLE  303 

struck.  Each  distinct  action  carried  with  it  a  more  or  less  distinct 
thought.  "This  is  going  to  be  hell  here,  presently,"  thought  the 
first  cartridge.  "No  guns  and  every  other  Yank  in  creation  coming 
jumping!"  "Thunder  Run!"  thought  the  second;  "Thunder  Run, 
Thunder  Run,  Thunder  Run  !"  Thought  the  third,  "  I  killed  that  man 
with  the  twisted  face."  Thought  the  fourth,  "I  forgot  to  give  Dave 
back  his  tin  cup."  The  fifth  cartridge  had  an  irrelevant  vision  of  the 
school-house  and  the  water-bucket  on  the  bench  by  the  door.  The 
sixth  thought,  "That  man  won't  go  home  either!"  Down  the  line 
went  the  word,  Bayonets  !  and  he  fixed  his  bayonet,  the  gun-bore 
burning  his  fingers  as  he  did  so.  The  breastwork  here  was  log  and 
earth.  Now  other  bayonets  appeared  over  it,  and  behind  the  bay 
onets  blue  caps.  "I  have  heard  many  a  fuss,"  said  the  first  bayonet 
thrust,  "but  never  a  fuss  like  this!"  "Blood,  blood!"  said  the 
second.  "I  am  the  bloody  Past!  Just  as  strong  and  young  as  ever  I 
was !  More  blood ! ' ' 

The  trenches  grew  slippery  with  blood.  It  mixed  with  the  rain 
and  ran  in  red  streamlets.  The  bayonet  point  felt  first  the  folds  of 
cloth,  then  it  touched  and  broke  the  skin,  then  it  parted  the  tissues, 
then  it  grated  against  bone,  or,  passing  on,  rending  muscle  and 
gristle,  protruded,  a  crimson  point.  Withdrawn,  it  sought  another 
body,  sought  it  fast,  and  found  it.  Those  men  who  had  room  to  fire 
kept  on  firing,  the  blue  into  breast  and  face  of  the  grey,  the  grey 
into  breast  and  face  of  the  blue.  Flame  scorched  the  flesh  of  each. 
Pistols  were  used  as  well  as  muskets.  Where  there  was  not  room 
to  fire,  or  time  to  load,  where  one  could  not  well  thrust  with  the 
bayonet,  the  stock  of  gun  or  pistol  was  used  as  a  club.  Where 
weapons  had  been  wrested  away  men  clutched  with  bare  hands  one 
anothers'  throats.  And  all  this  went  on,  not  among  a  dozen  or  even 
fifty  infuriated  beings,  but  among  thousands.  Over  all  was  the 
smoke,  through  which,  as  through  a  leaky  roof,  poured  the  rain. 

The  blue  came  over  the  breastwork,  down  the  slippery  side,  into 
the  trenches.  Their  feet  pressed  dead  bodies  or  slipped  in  the  bloody 
mire.  The  grey  seemed  to  lift  them  bodily  and  throw  them  back 
upon  the  other  side.  Then  across  the  parapet  broke  out  again 
the  storm  of  musketry.  There  were  four  thousand  defending  the 
salient,  there  were  thrice  as  many  pressing  to  the  attack.  From  the 
rear  Ewell  was  throwing  forward  brigades,  but  they  could  not  come 


304  CEASE  FIRING 

in  time.    The  twenty-two  guns  were  now  here,  but  only  two  were 
unlimbered,  when  the  blue  finally  overran  the  Bloody  Angle. 

They  poured  into  the  salient,  they  took  three  thousand  grey  pris 
oners,  amongst  them  Johnson  himself  and  General  Steuart;  they 
took  twenty  of  Page  and  Cutshaw's  twenty-two  guns.  They  swept 
on,  hurrahing,  to  the  second  line  across  the  salient,  and  here  they 
met  the  troops  of  Hill  and  Early.  Gordon  and  Rodes,  brigades  of 
Lane  and  Ramseur  and  Perrin,  brigades  of  Mississippi  and  South 
Carolina,  artillery  from  any  quarter  that  could  be  brought  to  bear, 
all  crashed  against  the  rushing  blue.  All  day  it  lasted,  the  battle 
of  the  broken  centre,  with  movements  of  diversion  elsewhere;  an 
attack,  violently  repulsed,  upon  Anderson  of  Longstreet's;  and 
Early's  victory  over  Burnside.  But  it  was  over  and  around  the 
salient  that  man's  rage  waxed  hottest.  So  dense  in  the  rain-laden 
air  was  the  smoke,  both  from  the  artillery  and  the  enormous  volume 
of  musketry,  that  although  they  were  neighbours,  indeed,  neither 
side  now  clearly  saw  its  target.  Each  side  fired  at  edges  and  gleams 
of  humanity.  Now  a  work  was  captured  and  held,  perhaps  for  five, 
perhaps  for  twenty  minutes.  Then  it  was  retaken.  Now  it  was  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  that  waved  above  it,  and  now  it  was  the  Stars  and 
Bars.  The  abatis  became  a  trap  to  take  the  living  and  hold  the  dead. 
It  and  all  the  standing  trees  were  riddled  by  bullets,  split  into  broom- 
straw.  Trees  of  considerable  diameter,  bit  in  twain  by  the  leaden 
teeth,  crashed  down  upon  the  commands  beneath.  The  artillery, 
roaring  into  the  battle  from  every  feasible  point,  raked  the  ground 
with  canister,  bringing  down  the  living  and  dreadfully  mangling 
the  already  fallen.  The  face  of  the  earth  was  kneaded  into  a  paste 
with  blood  and  water.  The  blood  seemed  to  have  gotten  upon  the 
flags.  And  always  from  the  rear  was  handed  on  the  ammunition. 
.  .  .  The  Sixty-fifth  was  among  the  uncaptured.  Billy  had  become 
an  automaton. 

Night  closed  the  conflict.  The  blue  had  gained  the  capture  of 
three  fourths  of  a  division,  but  little  since  or  beside.  When  total 
darkness  came  down  there  lay  upon  the  field  of  Spottsylvania  six 
teen  thousand  Federal  dead  and  wounded.  The  grey  loss  was  not  so 
great,  but  it  was  great  enough.  And  never  now  with  the  grey  could 
any  loss  be  afforded.  With  the  grey  the  blood  that  was  lost  was 
arterial  blood. 


THE   BLOODY   ANGLE  305 

At  dawn  Lee  still  held  the  great  V,  save  only  the  extreme  point, 
the  narrow  Bloody  Angle.  This  was  covered  and  possessed  by  the 
blue,  and  at  the  dawn  details  came  to  gather  the  wounded  and  bury 
the  dead.  The  dead  lay  thronged.  The  blue  buried  their  own,  and 
then  they  came  and  looked  upon  the  trenches  on  the  grey  side  of 
the  breastworks,  and  the  grey  dead  lay  there  so  thick  that  it  was 
ghastly.  They  lay  in  blood  stiffened  with  earth,  and  their  pale  faces 
looked  upwards,  and  their  cold  hands  still  clutched  their  muskets. 
A  ray  from  the  rising  sun  struck  upon  them.  "  With  much  labour," 
says  a  Federal  eye-witness,  "a  detail  of  Union  soldiers  buried  these 
dead  by  simply  turning  the  captured  breastworks  upon  them." 

Back  somewhere  near  the  river  Po,  in  the  width  of  the  V,  a 
mounted  officer  met  a  mounted  comrade.  The  latter  was  shining 
wet,  he  and  his  horse,  from  a  swollen  ford.  Each  drew  rein. 

"Have  you  anything  to  eat?"  said  the  one  from  across  the  Po. 
"I  am  dizzy,  I  am  so  famished." 

"I've  got  a  little  brown  sugar.  Here  - 

He  poured  it  into  the  hollow  of  the  other's  hand,  who  ate  it 
eagerly.  "Has  anything,"  asked  the  first,  "been  heard  from  Rich 
mond  way  —  from  Stuart  ?" 

The  other  let  fall  his  hand,  sticky  with  the  sugar.  He  looked  at 
his  fellow  with  sombre  eyes.  "Where  have  you  been,"  he  said,  "not 
to  have  heard  ?  —  Stuart  is  dead." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

RICHMOND 

"From  lightning  and  tempest;  from  plague,  pestilence  and  famine; 
from  battle  and  murder,  and  from  sudden  death, 
"  Good  Lord,  deliver  us" 

BY  most  the  words  were  sobbed  out.  May  the  eighth,  and  the 
Wilderness  vast  in  the  minds  of  all,  and  fresh  battle  impend 
ing,  now  at  Spottsylvania!  It  was  a  congregation  of  men  and 
women,  dusky  in  raiment,  bereaved,  torn  by  anxieties,  sick  with 
alternating  hope  and  fear.  Only  on  one's  bed  at  night,  or  here  in 
church,  could  the  overladen  heart  speak  without  shame  or  acknow 
ledgment  of  weakness.  Outside,  one  must  be  brave  again.  The  over 
laden  heart  expressed  itself  not  loudly  but  very  truly.  The  kneeling 
women  looked  crushed  and  immobile  in  that  position .  Over  them  was 
flung  a  veil  of  black,  and  a  hand,  potent  from  the  beginning  of  ages, 
seemed  yet  more  heavily  to  press  downward  their  bowed  heads. 
The  men  knelt  more  stiffly,  but  they,  too,  rested  their  foreheads  on 
their  clasped  hands,  and  the  tears  came  from  between  their  closed  lids. 
On  rolled  the  service,  through  to  the  benediction.  Richmond  in 
Saint  Paul's  came  out  of  church  into  the  flower-perfumed  sunlight. 
Here,  men  and  women,  they  took  up  life  again,  and  took  it  up  with 
courage.  And  as  the  proper  face  of  courage  is  a  smiling  one,  so 
with  these.  Laughter,  even,  was  heard  in  Richmond  —  Richmond 
scarred  and  battle- worn;  Richmond,  where  was  disease  and  crowd 
ing  and  wounds  and  starvation;  Richmond  ringed  with  earthworks; 
Richmond  the  city  contended  for;  Richmond  between  her  foes, 
Army  of  the  Potomac  threatening  from  the  Wilderness,  Army  of 
the  James,  lesser  but  formidable,  threatening  from  the  river  gate; 
Richmond,  where  the  alarm  bell  was  always  ringing,  ringing!  Two 
days  ago  it  had  pealed  the  news  that  Butler,  bringing  up  a  fleet 
from  Fortress  Monroe,  had  made  a  landing  at  Bermuda  Hundred. 
Thirty-nine  ships  there  were  in  all  —  thirty-eight,  when  a  gunboat, 
running  upon  a  torpedo,  was  blown  into  fragments.  They  landed 


RICHMOND  307 

thirty-six  thousand  troops  and  overran  the  narrow  ground  between 
the  Appomattox  and  the  James.  Petersburg  was  threatened,  and 
from  that  side  Richmond.  The  bell  told  it  all  with  an  iron  tongue. 
Pickett  was  at  Petersburg,  reinforced  by  Hagood's  brigade,  and 
troops  were  coming  from  the  Carolinas  —  some  troops,  how  many 
no  one  knew  save  that  they  could  not  be  many.  Yesterday  again 
the  thrilling,  rapid,  iron  tongue  had  spoken.  The  enemy  had  seized 
and  was  wrecking  the  Petersburg  railroad.  ...  So  many  words 
had  come  forward  in  this  war,  had  their  day,  or  short  or  long,  and 
gone  out  of  men's  mouths!  Now  the  word  " Petersburg"  came  for 
ward,  it  being  its  turn.  The  alarm  bell  called  out  the  militia  and  the 
City  Battalion  and  the  clerks  from  the  various  departments.  They 
were  all  ready  if  the  blue  cannon  came  nearer. 

Storm  and  oppression  were  in  the  air  —  and  yet  the  town  on  its 
seven  hills  was  fair,  with  May  flowers  and  the  fresh  green  of  many 
trees  in  which  sang  the  mating  birds.  The  past  winter  and  early 
spring  there  had  existed,  leaping  like  a  sudden  flame,  dying  to  a 
greying  ember,  and  then  leaping  again,  a  strange  gaiety.  It  had 
seized  but  a  certain  number  in  the  heavy-hearted  city,  but  these  it 
had  seized.  Youth  was  youth,  and  must  sing  some  manner  of  song 
and  play  a  little  no  matter  what  the  storm.  There  were  bizarre 
"  starvation  parties,"  charades,  concerts,  dances,  amateur  theatric 
als,  an  historic  presentation  of  "The  Rivals."  It  was  all  natural 
enough;  it  had  its  place  in  the  symphony  of  1864.  But  now  it  was 
over.  The  soldiers  had  gone  back  to  the  front,  the  campaign  had 
begun,  and  no  one  could  really  sing,  watching  the  wounded  come  in. 

Judith  and  Unity  Gary  walked  up  Grace  Street  together.  They 
were  not  wearing  black;  Warwick  Gary  had  never  liked  it.  More 
over,  in  this  year  of  the  war  a  black  gown  and  bonnet  and  veil 
would  cost  a  fearful  amount,  and  there  were  known  to  be  women 
and  children  starving.  The  day  was  bright  and  warm,  with  drifts 
of  perfume.  An  officer  of  the  President's  staff  lifted  his  cap,  then 
walked  beside  them. 

"Isn't  it  a  lovely  day?  —  If  I  were  a  king  with  a  hundred 
palaces,  I  should  have  around  each  one  a  brick  wall  with  wistaria 
over  it!" 

"No,  dark  red  roses— " 

"I  should  n't  have  a  wall  at  all  —  unless  it  were  one  with  a  num- 


308  CEASE   FIRING 

ber  of  gates  —  and  only  one  palace !  A  reasonable  palace,  with  an 
unreasonable  number  of  white  roses  — " 

A  lieutenant-colonel,  aged  twenty-six,  with  an  arm  in  a  sling, 
and  a  patch  over  one  eye,  here  joined  them.  "Good  morning! 
Is  n't  it  a  lovely  day!  I  was  just  thinking  it  was  n't  half  so  lovely  a 
day  as  the  days  are  at  Greenwood,  and  lo  and  behold!  just  then  it 
became  just  as  lovely!  —  What  do  you  think!  It's  confirmed  that 
Beauregard  is  on  his  way  from  North  Carolina  — " 

"Good!" 

'"Beau  canon,  Beauregard!  Beau  soldat,  Beauregard  I 

Beau  sabreur!  beau  frappeur I  Beauregard/  Beauregard!' 

Now  I've  shocked  that  old  lady  crossing  the  street!  Harry,  tell 
her  it  was  a  Russian  hymn!" 

They  walked  on  beneath  the  bright  trees.  "The wedding 

has  been  postponed,"  said  Unity.  "They  thought  there  was  time, 
but  two  days  before  the  day  they  had  set,  he  had  to  go.  It  will  be  as 
soon  as  he  conies  back." 

"By  George!  but  I  was  at  a  wedding  out  in  Hanover!"  said  the 
lieutenant-colonel.  "The  bride  was  dressed  in  homespun,  with  a 
wreath  of  apple  blossoms.  The  bridesmaids  were  in  black,  just  taken 
as  they  were  from  all  the  neighbouring  families.  The  groom  had 
lost  his  arm  and  a  piece  of  shell  at  Mine  Run  had  cut  away  an  ear, 
just  as  neat !  The  best  man  was  a  lame  civilian  who  had  somehow 
inherited  and  held  fast  a  beautiful  black  broadcloth  suit,  —  very 
tight  pantaloons  and  a  sprigged  velvet  waistcoat!  He  had  acted, 
he  told  me,  as  best  man  at  thirty  weddings  in  the  last  year  '  because 
he  had  the  clothes.'  The  wedding  guests  had  come  in  what  they 
had  and  it  was  a  wonderful  display.  The  bride  had  six  brothers  and 
a  father  marching  on  the  Wilderness,  and  the  groom  was  just  out 
of  hospital.  There  were  three  wounded  cousins  in  the  house,  and 
in  the  stable  a  favourite  war-horse  being  doctored  for  a  sabre  cut. 
Most  of  the  servants  had  left,  but  there  was  a  fiddler  still  on  the 
place,  and  we  danced  till  midnight.  There  was  a  Confederate  bride 
cake,  and  a  lot  of  things  made  with  dried  apples  and  sorghum.  By 
George,  it  was  fine! " 

"  The  bell !  " 

The  iron  voice  rang  through  the  city.   Faces  came  to  the  open 


RICHMOND  309 

windows,  questioning  voices  arose,  men  passed,  walking  rapidly,, 
the  aide  and  the  lieutenant-colonel  said  good-bye  in  haste  and  went 
with  the  rest.  The  loud  ringing  ceased;  it  had  not  lasted  long  enough 
to  mark  anything  very  terrible.  Judith  and  Unity  waited  by  a 
honeysuckle-draped  gate  until  the  clamour  had  ceased,  and  then 
until  there  came  reassurance  from  a  passer-by.  "  Nothing  alarm 
ing!  A  slight  engagement  at  Drewry's  Bluff,  and  a  feint  this  way ! " 

The  kinsman's  house  where  Judith  had  stayed  before  sheltered 
now  the  two  sisters.  Judith  was  here  because,  during  the  weeks  of 
inaction  preceding  the  opening  of  the  campaign,  Cleave  could  now 
and  again  come  to  Richmond  for  a  day.  Unity  was  here  because  of 
sheer  need  of  change,  so  weary  long  had  been  the  winter  at  Green 
wood.  Change  was  change,  even  if  both  plays  were  tragedies.  Now 
they  went  into  the  house  that,  like  all  houses  in  Richmond,  was  rilled 
with  people.  Of  the  three  sons,  one  had  died  in  prison  and  the  others 
were  with  Lee.  The  house  was  murmurous  with  the  voices  of  women 
and  quite  elderly  men,  across  which  bubbled  the  clear  notes  of 
children.  So  much  of  the  great  State  was  overrun  now  by  the  foe, 
so  many  homes  were  burned,  so  much  subsistence  was  destroyed,  so 
impossible  was  it  to  stay  in  the  old  home  region,  that  always,  every 
where,  occurred  a  movement  of  refugees.  There  was  a  tendency  for 
the  streams  to  set  toward  Richmond;  unwise  but  natural.  Almost 
every  quarter  was  now  threatened;  one  went  into  peaceful  fields, 
to-day,  and  to-morrow  one  must  move  again.  Richmond!  Rich 
mond  was  surely  safe,  Richmond  would  surely  never  fall.  .  .  . 
There  was  a  restless  straining,  too,  toward  the  heart  of  things. 
So  the  refugees  came  to  Richmond  and,  with  the  troops  coming 
and  going,  and  Government  and  the  departments  and  the  inmates 
of  the  great  hospitals  and  the  inmates  of  the  mournful  prisons, 
crowded  the  city. 

Judith  and  Unity  had  together  the  small,  high-up,  white  room 
behind  the  tulip  tree  that  had  been  Judith's  before  and  during  and 
after  the  Seven  Days.  Now  they  climbed  to  it,  laid  away  their 
things,  and  prepared  for  the  three  o'clock  dinner.  Judith  sat  in  the 
window-seat,  her  hands  about  her  knee, her  head  thrown  back  against 
the  white  wood,  her  eyes  on  the  shimmering  distance  seen  between 
the  boughs. 

"Once  this  window  faced  as  it  should,"  she  said;  "  I  could  watch 


3  io  CEASE   FIRING 

the  camp-fires  each  night  —  and  I  watched  —  I  watched.  But  now 
I  wish  it  were  a  northwest  window." 

Unity,  at  the  mirror,  coiled  her  bright,  brown  hair.  "  By  the  time 
it  was  cut  you  might  need  another." 

"That  is  true,"  said  Judith.  "The  sky  reddens  all  round,  and 
one  needs  a  room  all  windows." 

They  went  downstairs.  As  they  approached  the  cool  dining-room, 
with  its  portraits  and  silver  and  old  blue  china,  a  very  sweet  voice 
floated  out.  "He  said,  'Exactly,  madam!  You  take  your  money 
to  market  in  the  market-basket,  and  you  bring  home  what  you  buy 
in  your  pocketbook  1  "3 

The  next  day  and  the  next  they  spent  in  part  at  a  hospital,  in 
part  breathlessly  waiting  with  the  waiting  city  for  news,  news,  news! 
—  news  from  Spottsylvania,  where  the  great  fighting  was  in  pro 
gress;  news  from  south  of  the  river,  where  Butler,  most  hated  of  all 
foes,  was  entrenched,  where  there  was  fighting  at  Port  Walthall; 
news,  on  the  tenth,  of  Sheridan's  approach,  of  much  burning  and 
destroying,  news  that  Stuart  was  countering  Sheridan.  "Oh,  it  is  all 
right,  then!"  said  many;  but  yet  by  day  and  by  night  there  was 
tenseness  of  apprehension. 

All  the  town  was  hot  and  breathless.  The  alarm  bell  rang,  the 
dust  whirled  through  the  streets.  The  night  of  the  tenth,  Judith 
and  Unity  were  wakened  by  a  drum  beating.  A  minute  later  a  voice 
spoke  outside  their  door.  "Sheridan  is  within  a  few  miles  of  Rich 
mond.  He  is  moving  on  us  with  eight  thousand  horse.  Your  cousin 
says  you  had  better  get  up  and  dress." 

All  of  the  household  except  the  sleeping  children  gathered  on 
the  porch  that  overhung  the  pavement.  It  was  two  o'clock.  The 
drum  was  still  beating  and  now  there  came  by  soldiers.  We  're  going 
out  the  Brook  Turnpike,  said  the  drum.  Out  the  Brook  Turnpike. 
Meet  them!  We  're  going  to  meet  them!  Three  or  four  regiments  passed. 
The  drum  turned  a  corner  and  the  sound  died,  going  northward. 
The  streets  were  filled  with  people  as  though  it  were  day.  They 
went  up  and  down  quietly  enough ;  without  panic,  but  seized  by  a 
profound  restlessness.  Toward  four  o'clock  a  man  came  riding  up 
the  street  on  horseback,  stopping  every  hundred  yards  or  so  to  say 
in  a  loud,  manly  voice,  "The  President  has  heard  from  General 
Stuart.  With  Fitzhugh  Lee  and  Hampton  and  Munford,  General 


RICHMOND  311 

Stuart  has  taken  position  between  us  and  a  large  cavalry  force  under 
Sheridan.  There  has  been  a  fight  at  Ashland  in  which  we  were 
victors.  General  Stuart  is  now  approaching  Yellow  Tavern.  The 
President  says,  'Good  people,  go  to  bed,  Richmond's  got  a  great 
shield  before  it!'" 

The  eleventh  dawned.  Richmond  now  heard  the  cannon  again, 
from  the  north  and  from  the  south.  Judith  and  Unity  heard  them 
from  the  hospital  windows.  There  was  a  delirious  soldier  whom  they 
had  to  hold  in  bed  because  he  thought  that  it  was  his  battery  fight 
ing  against  odds,  and  Pegram  was  calling  him.  "Yes,  Major!  I'm 
coming!  Yes,  Major!  I 've  got  the  powder.  I'm  coming!"  By  ten 
o'clock  ran  through  the  excited  ward  the  tidings  that  they  were 
fighting,  fighting  in  Spottsylvania,  "Fighting  like  hell."  The  sound 
of  cannon  came  from  the  south  side.  "Butler  over  there  —  New 
Orleans  Butler! ! !  When's  Beauregard  coming  ?" 

"General  Beauregard  has  come.  He  is  at  Petersburg." 

"Miss  What 's-your-name,  why  don't  you  warm  your  hands? 
That  ain't  any  way  to  touch  poor  sick  soldiers  with  them  icicles  like 
that!  —  O  Lord,  O  Lord!  Why 'd  I  ever  come  here  ?" 

"  Them  cannon 's  getting  louder  all  the  time.  Louder  'n',  louder  'n', 
louder—" 

"Shoo!  They  can't  cross  the  river.  Where 's  Jeb  Stuart?  What's 
he  doing?" 

""He's  fighting  hard,  six  miles  out,  at  Yellow  Tavern.    Uptown 
you  can  hear  the  firing!" 

A  young  man  struggled  up  in  bed,  first  coughing,  then  breathing 
with  a  loud,  whistling  sound.  The  doctor  glanced  his  way,  then 
looked  at  a  nurse.  " It's  come.  I '11  give  him  something  so  he  can  go 
easily.  Let  him  lean  against  you.  Tell  the  men  to  try  to  be  quiet." 

Out  at  Yellow  Tavern,  six  miles  north  of  Richmond,  Sheridan 
was  formed  in  line  of  battle.  Over  against  him  was  Stuart,  his  men 
dismounted.  The  blue  delivered  a  great  volley,  advanced,  volleyed 
again,  advanced,  shouting.  The  grey  returned  their  fire.  James 
Stuart,  sitting  his  horse  just  behind  his  battle-line,  swung  his  hat, 
lifted  his  voice  that  was  the  voice  of  a  magician,  "Steady,  men, 
steady!  Give  a  good  day 's  account  of  yourself !  Steady!  Steady!" 

The  firing  became  fiercer  and  closer.  There  was  a  keening  sound 
in  the  air.  Stuart's  voice  suddenly  dropped;  he  swayed  in  his  saddle. 


3 12  CEASE   FIRING 

A  mounted  courier  pressed  toward  him.  "Go,"  he  said;  "go  tell 
General  Lee  and  Dr.  Fontaine  to  come  here."  The  courier  spurred 
away  and  the  men  around  Stuart  lifted  him  from  his  horse,  and, 
mourning,  bore  him  to  the  rear. 

That  evening  they  brought  him  into  the  city  and  laid  him  in  the 
house  of  his  brother-in-law.  His  wife  was  sent  for,  but  she  was  miles 
away,  in  the  troubled,  overrun  countryside,  and  though  she  fared 
toward  him  in  haste  and  anguish,  she  spoke  to  him  no  more  alive. 
Friends  were  around  him  —  his  mourning  officers,  all  the  mourning 
city.  The  President  came  and  stood  beside  the  bed,  and  tried  to 
thank  him.  "  You  have  saved  Richmond,  General.  You  have  always 
been  a  bulwark  to  us  .  .  ."  He  asked  for  a  hymn  that  he  liked  — 
"I  would  not  live  alway."  He  had  lived  but  thirty-one  years.  He 
asked  of  ten  for  his  wife.  "Is  she  come?"  .  .  .  "Is  she  come?"  She 
could  not  come  in  time.  The  evening  of  the  twelfth  he  died,  quite 
peacefully,  and  those  who  looked  on  his  dead  face  said  that  the 
sunshine  abided. 

They  buried  Jeb  Stuart  in  Hollywood,  buried  him  with  no  pag 
eantry  of  martial  or  of  civil  woe.  One  year  ago  there  had  been  in 
Richmond  for  Stonewall  Jackson  such  pageantry.  To-day 

"We  could  not  pause,  while  yet  the  noontide  air 

Shook  with  the  cannonade's  incessant  pealing  .  .  . 

"One  weary  year  ago,  when  came  a  lull, 

With  victory  in  the  conflict's  stormy  closes, 
When  the  glad  spring,  all  flushed  and  beautiful, 
First  mocked  us  with  her  roses  — 

"With  dirge  and  bell  and  minute  gun  we  paid 
Some  few  poor  rites,  an  inexpressive  token, 
Of  a  great  people's  pain,  to  Jackson's  shade, 
In  agony  unspoken. 

"No  wailing  trumpet  and  no  tolling  bell, 

No  cannon,  save  the  battle's  boom  receding, 
When  Stuart  to  the  grave  we  bore,  might  tell, 
With  hearts  all  crushed  and  bleeding  ..." 

But  the  people  thronged  to  Hollywood,  above  the  rushing  river. 
Hollow  and  hill,  ivy-mantled  oaks  and  grass  purpled  with  violets, 
the  place  was  a  good  one  in  which  to  lay  down  the  outworn  form 
that  had  done  service  and  was  loved.  Flowers  grew  there  with  a 
wild  luxuriance.  To-day  they  were  brought  beside  from  all  gardens— 


RICHMOND  313 

"We  well  remembered  how  he  loved  to  dash, 

Into  the  fight,  festooned  from  summer's  bowers. 
How  like  a  fountain's  spray,  his  sabre  flash, 
Leaped  from  a  mass  of  flowers  — " 

To-day  flowers  lined  the  open  grave;  they  covered  the  coffin  and 
the  flag. 

Back  in  the  hospital  a  man  with  three  wounds  wailed  all  night.  "  I 
had  a  brother  and  he  was  living  up  North  and  so  he  thought  that- 
er-way.  And  he  wrote  that  he  held  by  the  Nation  just  as  hard  as  I 
held  by  the  State.  And  so  he  up  and  joined  the  Army  of  the  Poto 
mac  and  came  down  here.  And  in  the  Wilderness  the  other  day  — 
and  in  the  Wilderness  the  other  day  —  oh,  in  the  Wilderness  the 
other  day  —  I  was  sharpshooting !  I  was  up  in  a  tree,  close  to  the 
bark,  like  a  'pecker.  There  was  a  gully  below  with  a  stream  running 
down  it,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  gully  was  an  oak  with  a  man 
in  it,  close  to  the  bark  like  a  'pecker.  And  we  were  Yank  and  Johnny 
Reb,  and  so  every  time  one  of  us  showed  as  much  as  the  tip  of  a 
'pecker's  wing,  the  other  one  fired.  We  fired  and  fired.  And  at  last 
he  was  n't  so  cautious,  and  I  got  him.  And  first  his  musket  fell,  down 
and  down,  for  he  was  up  high.  And  then  the  body  came  and  it  hit 
every  bough  as  it  came.  And  something  in  me  gave  a  word  of  com 
mand.  It  said  '  Go  and  look.'  I  got  down  out  of  the  oak,  for  I  was 
in  an  oak  tree,  too,  and  I  went  down  one  side  of  the  gully  and  up  the 
other.  And  he  was  lying  all  doubled  up.  And  I  got  another  word  of 
command, '  Turn  him  over.'  And  I  did,  and  he  was  my  brother.  .  .  . 
And  I'm  tired  of  war." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

COLD   HARBOUR 

THESE  were  the  moves  of  the  following  two  weeks.  Six  days, 
from  the  day  of  the  Bloody  Angle  to  the  eighteenth  of 
May,  the  two  armies  stayed  as  they  were,  save  for  slight, 
shifting,  wary  movements,  as  of  two  opposed  Indians  in  the  brush. 
On  the  eighteenth,  the  blue  attacked  —  again  the  salient.  Ewell, 
with  thirty  guns,  broke  and  scattered  the  assault.  On  the  nine 
teenth,  the  "sidling"  process  recommenced.  On  this  day  Ewell 
came  into  contact  with  the  Federal  left,  and  in  the  engagement  that 
ensued  both  sides  lost  heavily.  The  night  of  the  twentieth,  the  Army 
of  the  Potomac,  Hancock  leading,  started  for  the  North  Anna. 
The  morning  of  the  twenty-first,  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia 
struck,  by  the  Telegraph  Road,  for  the  same  stream.  It  had  the 
inner  line,  and  it  got  there  first.  At  noon  the  twenty-second  it 
began  to  cross  the  river.  That  night  Lee  and  his  men  rested  on  the 
southern  bank.  Morning  of  the  twenty-third  showed  on  the  opposite 
shore  the  head  of  the  blue  column. 

The  blue  crossed  at  Jericho  Ford,  and  by  the  Chesterfield  Bridge, 
not  without  conflict  and  trouble.  It  won  over,  but  over  in  two  dis 
tinctly  separated  wings,  and  that  which  separated  them  was  Robert 
Edward  Lee  and  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia.  Here  was  now 
another  V,  the  point  now  upon  the  river,  unassailable,  the  sides 
entrenched,  the  blue  army  split  in  twain.  Followed  two  days  of 
unavailing  attempts  to  find  a  way  to  crush  the  V.  Then,  on  the 
night  of  the  twenty-sixth,  the  blue,  having  fairly  effectively  hidden 
its  intention,  "sidled"  again.  The  Army  of  the  Potomac  left  the 
North  Anna,  taking  the  road  for  the  Pamunkey  which  it  crossed  at 
Hanover.  The  V  at  once  became  a  column  and  followed. 

The  two  antagonists  were  now  approaching  old  and  famed  war 
grounds.  On  the  twenty-eighth,  grey  cavalry  and  blue  cavalry  — 
Sheridan  against  Fitz  Lee  and  Wade  Hampton  —  crashed  together 
at  Hawes's  Shop.  That  night  Army  of  the  Potomac,  Army  of  North- 


COLD   HARBOUR  315 

ern  Virginia,  watched  each  the  other's  camp-fires  on  the  banks  of 
the  Totopotomoy.  In  the  morning  Grant  started  for  the  Chicka- 
hominy,  but  when  he  reached  Cold  Harbour  it  was  to  find  Lee 
between  him  and  the  river. 

Two  days  the  two  foes  rested.  There  had  been  giant  marching 
through  giant  heat,  constant  watching,  much  fighting.  The  country 
that  was  difficult  in  the  days  of  McClellan  was  not  less  so  in  the 
days  of  Grant.  Marsh  and  swamp  and  thicket  and  hidden  roads, 
and  now  all  desolate  from  years  of  war.  .  .  .  The  first  of  June 
passed,  the  second  of  June  passed,  with  skirmishes  and  engagements 
that  once  the  country  would  have  stood  a-tiptoe  to  hear  of.  Now 
they  were  nothing.  The  third  of  June  the  battle  of  Cold  Harbour 
crashed  into  history.  .  .  . 

The  dawn  came  up,  crowned  with  pale  violets,  majestical  and 
still.  Upon  the  old  woods,  the  old  marshes,  hung  a  mist,  cool  and 
silvery.  There  came  a  sweet  cry  of  birds  in  the  grey  tree-tops.  Lee's 
long  grey  lines,  concave  to  the  foe,  stretched  from  Alexander's 
Bridge  on  the  Chickahominy  to  the  upper  Totopotomoy.  On  the 
low  earthworks  hung  the  gossamers,  dewy  bright.  Grant  held  the 
Sydnor's  Sawmill,  Bethesda  Church,  and  Old  Cold  Harbour  line, 
roughly  paralleling  the  other.  But  he  was  north  of  Lee;  Lee  was 
again  between  him  and  Richmond  —  Richmond  so  near  now,  so 
very  near !  Richmond  was  there  before  him  —  no  room  now  for 
"swinging  past,"  and  the  lion  was  there,  too,  in  the  path. 

Grant  attacked  in  column.  Deep  and  narrow-fronted,  he  thrust 
against  the  grey  earthworks  like  a  giant  mill-race  rather  than  a  wide 
ocean,  like  one  solid  catapult  rather  than  a  mailed  fist  at  every  door. 
Twenty  deep,  the  Second  and  Sixth  Corps  poured  into  the  depres 
sion  that  was  the  grey  centre.  Second  and  Sixth  came  on  with  a 
shout,  and  the  grey  answered  with  a  shout  and  with  every  musket 
and  cannon.  Following  the  Second  and  Sixth  the  Eighteenth,  pha- 
lanxed,  dashed  itself  against  a  salient  held  by  Kershaw.  .  .  .  The 
battle  of  Cold  Harbour  was  the  briefest,  the  direst!  Death  swung  a 
scythe  against  the  three  corps.  They  were  in  the  gulf  of  the  grey, 
and  Fate  came  upon  them  from  three  sides.  In  effect,  it  was  all 
over  in  a  very  few  minutes.  .  .  .  The  shattered  three  corps  fell 
back  to  what  cover  they  could  find.  Here  they  fired  ineffectively 
from  this  shelter  and  from  that.  Before  them,  between  them  and 


3i6  CEASE   FIRING 

the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia,  stretched  the  plain  of  their  dead  and 
dying,  and  both  lay  upon  it  like  leaves  in  autumn.  Orders  came  that 
the  three  corps  should  again  attack.  The  more  advanced  commands 
obeyed  by  opening  fire  from  behind  what  shelter  they  had  found  or 
could  contrive,  but  there  was  no  other  movement.  Put  out  a  hand 
and  the  wind  began  to  whistle  and  the  air  over  that  plain  to  grow 
dark  with  lead !  Grant  sent  a  third  order.  Corps  of  Hancock,  Smith, 
and  Wright  to  advance  to  the  charge  along  the  whole  line.  Corps  com 
manders  repeated  the  order  to  division  commanders;  division  com 
manders  repeated  it  to  the  brigadiers,  but  that  was  all.  The  three 
corps  stood  still.  Statements,  differing  as  to  wording  but  tallying 
in  meaning,  travelled  from  grade  to  grade,  back  to  Headquarters. 
"It  is  totally  impossible,  and  the  men  know  it.  They  are  not  to  be 
blamed." 

By  noon  even  Grant,  who  rarely  knew  when  he  was  beaten,  knew 
that  he  was  beaten  here.  The  firing  sank  away.  "The  dead  and 
dying  lay  in  front  of  the  Confederate  lines  in  triangles,  of  which  the 
apexes  were  the  bravest  men  who  came  nearest  to  the  breastworks 
under  the  withering,  deadly  fire."  Dead  and  wounded  and  missing, 
ten  thousand  men  in  blue  felt  the  full  force  of  that  hour.  Stubborn 
to  the  end,  it  was  two  days  before  Grant  would  send  a  flag  of  truce 
and  ask  permission  to  bury  his  dead  and  gather  the  wounded  who 
had  not  raved  themselves  to  death.  "  Cold  Harbour! "  he  said,  much 
later  in  his  life;  "Cold  Harbour  is,  I  think,  the  only  battle  I  ever 
fought  that  I  would  not  fight  over  again  under  the  circumstances!" 

"In  the  opinion  of  a  majority  of  its  survivors,"  comments  a 
Federal  general,  "the  battle  of  Cold  Harbour  never  should  have 
been  fought.  It  was  the  dreary,  dismal,  bloody,  ineffective  close  of 
the  Lieutenant-General's  first  campaign  with  the  Army  of  the  Poto 
mac,  and  corresponded  in  all  its  essential  features  with  what  had 
preceded  it.  The  wide  and  winding  path  through  the  tangled  Wild 
erness  and  the  pines  of  Spottsylvania,  which  that  army  had  cut 
from  the  Rapidan  to  the  Chickahominy,  had  been  strewn  with  the 
bodies  of  thousands  of  brave  men,  the  majority  of  them  wearing 
the  Union  blue." 

The  Campaign  of  the  Thirty  Days  was  ended.  Fifty-four  thou 
sand  men  was  the  loss  of  the  blue;  something  over  half  that  number 
the  loss  of  the  grey.  Eighty  thousand  men  lay  dead,  or  writhing  in 


COLD   HARBOUR  317 

war-hospitals,  or  sat  bowed  in  war-prisons.  From  the  Atlantic  to 
the  Far  West  the  current  of  human  being  in  these  States  was 
troubled.  There  grew  a  sickness  of  feeling.  The  sun  seemed  to 
warm  less  strongly  and  the  moon  to  shine  less  calmly.  As  always  in 
war,  the  best  and  bravest  from  the  first  were  taking  flight;  many 
and  many  of  the  good  and  brave  were  left,  but  they  began  to  be 
conscious  of  a  loneliness.  "  All,  all  are  gone  —  the  old,  familiar  faces  I " 
And  over  the  land  sounded  the  mourning  of  homes  —  the  mourning 
of  the  mothers  and  daughters  of  men.  In  the  South  life  sank  a 
minor  third.  The  chords  resounded  still,  but  the  wrists  that  struck 
were  growing  weak.  Largo  .  .  .  Largo. 

For  a  week  Army  of  Northern  Virginia,  Army  of  the  Potomac, 
stood  opposed  on  the  old  lines.  They  entrenched  and  entrenched, 
working  by  night;  they  made  much  and  deadly  use  of  sharpshooters, 
they  engaged  in  artillery  duels,  in  alarums  and  excursions.  On  both 
sides  life  in  the  trenches  was  very  frightful.  They  were  so  crowded, 
and  the  sharpshooters  would  not  let  you  sleep.  The  water  was  bad, 
and  little  of  it,  and  on  the  grey  side,  at  least,  there  was  hunger.  The 
sun  in  heaven  burned  like  a  fiery  furnace.  Far  and  wide,  through 
the  tangled  country,  lay  the  unburied  bodies  of  men  and  horses. 
Sickness  appeared,  —  malaria,  dysentery.  Hour  after  hour,  day 
after  day,  you  lay  in  the  quivering  heat,  in  the  unshaded  trench.  Put 
out  arm  or  head  —  some  sharpshooter's  finger  pulled  a  trigger. 

In  these  days  there  began  in  the  Valley  of  Virginia  a  movement 
of  vandalism  under  Hunter  who  had  succeeded  Sigel.  On  the  fifth 
of  June,  Lee  sent  thither  Breckinridge  with  a  small  force.  On  the 
twelfth,  with  his  calm,  reasoned  audacity,  acting  under  the  shadow 
of  Grant's  continually  reinforced  army,  he  detached  Jubal  Early, 
sent  him  with  Stonewall  Jackson's  old  Second  Corps,  by  way  of 
Charlottesville  to  the  old  hunting-grounds  of  the  Second  Corps, 
to  the  Valley  of  Virginia. 

The  night  of  the  twelfth  of  June,  Grant  lifted  his  tents  and  pushed 
to  the  eastward  away  from  Richmond,  then  to  the  south,  to  Wilcox 
Landing  below  Malvern  Hill,  on  the  James.  Here,  where  the  river 
was  seven  hundred  yards  in  width,  fifty  feet  in  depth,  he  built  a 
very  great  bridge  of  boats,  and  here  the  Army  of  the  Potomac 
crossed  to  the  south  side  of  the  James.  Grant  turned  his  face 
toward  Petersburg,  twenty  miles  from  Richmond. 


318  CEASE   FIRING 

The  forces  of  the  North  were  now  where  McClellan  had  wished 
to  place  them,  using  the  great  waterway  of  the  Chesapeake  and  the 
James,  something  more  than  two  years  ago.  They  were  in  a  position 
to  mate.  The  Federal  Government  had  worked  the  problem  by  the 
Rule  of  False. 

At  dawn  of  the  thirteenth,  Lee  left  the  lines  of  Cold  Harbour  and, 
passing  the  Chickahominy,  bivouacked  that  night  between  White 
Oak  Swamp  and  Malvern  Hill.  The  next  day  and  the  next  the  Army 
of  Northern  Virginia  crossed  the  James  by  pontoon  at  Drewry's 
Bluff,  and  pressed  south  to  the  Appomattox  and  the  old  town  of 
Petersburg.  Here  was  Beauregard,  and  here,  on  the  fifteenth, 
Butler,  by  Grant's  orders,  had  launched  an  attack  from  Bermuda 
Hundred,  heroically  repulsed  by  the  small  grey  force  at  Petersburg. 
Now  on  the  sixteenth  and  the  seventeenth  came  Lee  and  the  Army 
of  Northern  Virginia,  entering  the  lines  of  Petersburg  while  drum 
and  fife  played  "Dixie."  Of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  the  Second 
and  Ninth  Corps  were  up  and  in  position,  the  Fifth  upon  the  road. 
Face  to  face  again  were  Hector  and  Achilles,  Army  of  Northern 
Virginia,  Army  of  the  Potomac,  but  the  first  again  held  the  inner 
line.  South  of  Richmond  as  north  of  Richmond,  Grant  found  Lee 
between  him  and  Richmond. 

There  was  a  garden  behind  the  kinsman's  house  in  Richmond. 
Cleave  and  Judith,  coming  from  the  house,  found  it  empty  this 
afternoon  save  for  its  roses  and  its  birds.  A  high  wall,  ivy-covered, 
cloistered  it  from  the  street.  Beneath  the  tulip  tree  was  a  bench  and 
they  sat  themselves  down  here.  He  leaned  his  head  back  against 
the  bark  and  closed  his  eyes.  It  was  several  days  before  the  lifting 
of  the  warring  pieces  across  the  river.  With  the  Second  Corps  he 
was  on  his  way  to  the  Valley.  "I  did  not  know,"  he  said,  "that  I 
was  so  tired.  I  have  not  slept  for  two  nights." 

"Sleep  now.  I  will  sit  here,  just  as  quietly  — " 

He  smiled.  "It  is  very  likely  that  I  would  do  that,  is  it  not  ?" 
Bending  his  head,  he  took  her  hands  and  pressed  his  forehead  upon 
them.  "Judith  — Judith  — Judith— " 

The  birds  sang,  the  roses  bloomed.  From  the  south  came  a  dull 
booming,  the  cannon  of  Beauregard  and  of  Butler,  distant,  continu 
ous,  like  surf  on  breakers.  The  two  paid  it  no  especial  attention. 


COLD   HARBOUR  319 

Life  had  been  set  now  for  a  long  while  to  such  an  accompaniment. 
There  was  something  at  least  as  old  as  strife,  and  that  was  love;  as 
old  and  as  strong  and  as  perpetually  renewed. 

The  shadows  lengthened  on  the  grass.  There  came  a  sound  of 
bugles  blowing.  The  lovers  turned  and  clung  and  kissed,  then  in  the 
violet  light  their  hands  fell  apart.  Cleave  rose.  "They  are  singing, 
'Come  away!'"  he  said. 

There  were  stars  in  a  wreath  now  upon  the  collar  of  his  coat. 
She  touched  them,  smiling  through  tears.  "General  Cleave.  .  .  . 
It  comes  late  but  it  comes  well.  .  .  .  Oh,  my  general,  my  gen 
eral!" 

" Little  enough  of  the  Stonewall  Brigade  remains,"  he  said.  "For 
the  most  part  what  was  not  killed  and  was  not  captured  at  Spott- 
sylvania  has  been  gathered  into  Terry's  brigade,  and  goes,  too, 
to  the  Valley.  But  the  Sixty-fifth  goes  with  me  and  the  Golden 
Brigade.  The  Golden  Brigade  cares  for  me  because  I  am  Warwick 
Gary's  kinsman." 

"Not  alone  for  that,"  she  said,  "but  for  that  also  .  .  .  Oh,  my 
father  — my  father!" 

From  the  street  outside  the  garden  wall  came  a  sound  of  marching 
feet.  Above  the  ivy  showed,  passing,  the  bayonet  points.  It  was 
sunset  and  the  west  was  crimson.  Swallows  circled  above  the  house 
and  the  gold  cups  of  the  tulip  tree.  The  marching  feet  went  on,  and 
the  gleaming  bayonet  points.  There  came  a  flag,  half  visible  above 
the  ivy,  silken,  powder-darkened,  battle-scarred.  Cleave  raised  his 
hand  in  salute.  The  flag  went  by,  the  sound  of  the  marching  feet 
continued.  High  in  the  tree,  against  the  rosy  sky,  a  bird  with  a 
lyric  throat  began  to  sing,  piercing  sweet  and  clear. 

"Judith,"  said  Cleave,  "before  I  go,  there  is  a  thing  I  want  to 
tell  you.  Two  days  ago  I  was  riding  by  A.  P.  Hill's  lines.  There  was 
a  marshy  place,  on  the  edge  of  which  the  men  were  raising  a  breast 
work.  Judith,  I  am  certain  that  I  saw  Stafford.  He  has  done  as  I 
did  —  done  what  was  and  is  the  simple,  the  natural  thing  to  do. 
Whether  under  his  own  name  or  another,  he  is  there,  heaping  breast 
works  as  a  private  soldier." 

"  He  could  not  do  as  you  did!  You  went  clear  and  clean,  and  he — " 

"I  do  not  know  that  there  is  ever  any  sharp  line  of  difference. 
It  is  a  matter  of  degree.  I  have  come,"  said  Cleave  simply,  "to 


320  CEASE   FIRING 

understand  myself  less  and  other  people  more.  I  did  not  show  that 
I  recognized  him,  for  I  could  not  tell  if  he  would  wish  it  ...    I 
thought  that  you  should  know.  It  is  not  a  time  now  for  enmities." 
"God  knows  that  that  is  true,"  said  Judith,  weeping. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

LITTLE   PUMPKIN-VINE  CREEK 

SE  log  cabin  looked  out  upon  a  wooded  world,  a  world  that 
rolled  and  shimmered,  gold-green,  blue-green,  violet-green, 
to  horizons  of  bright  summer  sky.  In  the  distance,  veiled 
with  light,  sprang  Lost  Mountain  and  the  cone  of  Kennesaw.  Far  or 
near  there  were  hamlets— Powder  Spring,  Burnt  Hickory,  Roxanna 
—north,  there  was  the  village  of  Allatoona,  and  south,  that  of  Dallas; 
but  from  the  log  cabin  all  were  sunk  in  a  sea  of  emerald.  New  Hope 
Church  was  somewhere  near,  but  its  opening,  too,  was  hardly  more 
than  guessed  at.  But  Pumpkin- Vine  Creek  might  be  seen  in  its 
meanderings,  and  the  rippling  daughter  stream  that  the  soldiers 
called  "Little  Pumpkin- Vine "  flashed  by  the  hill  on  which  stood 
the  cabin. 

It  was  a  one-room-and-a-lean-to,  broken-down,  deserted,  log- 
and-clay  thing.  Whoever  had  lived  in  it  had  flown,  leaving  ashes 
on  the  hearth,  and  a  hop-vine  flowering  over  a  tiny  porch.  A  mon 
ster  pine  tree,  scaled  like  a  serpent,  sent  its  brown  shaft  a  hundred 
feet  in  air.  Upon  the  sandy  hilltop  grew  pennyroyal.  Pine  and 
pennyroyal,  the  intense  sunshine  drew  out  their  strength.  All  the 
air  was  dryness  and  warmth  and  a  pleasant  odour. 

Steadying  himself  by  the  lintel  Edward  Cary  rose  from  the  log 
that  made  the  doorstep.  A  stick  leaned  against  the  wall.  He  took 
this,  and  proceeded,  slow-paced,  to  make  his  way  to  the  pine  tree 
and  the  low  brink  of  the  hill  above  the  creek.  The  transit  occupied 
some  minutes,  but  at  last  he  reached  the  pine,  tired  but  happy. 
There  was  a  wonderful  purple-brown  carpet  beneath.  He  half  sat, 
half  reclined  upon  it,  and  leaning  forward  watched  Desiree  on  her 
knees  before  a  little  shallow  bay  of  the  creek.  It  was  washerwoman's 
day.  There  were  stepping-stones  in  the  clear  brown  water,  and  she 
was  across  the  stream,  her  head  downbent,  very  intently  scrubbing. 

"0  saw  ye  bonny  Lesley,"  — 
sang  Edward,  — 


CEASE   FIRING 

"As  she  gaed  o'er  the  Border  ? 
She 's  gane  like  Alexander, 
To  spread  her  conquests  further." 

Desiree  straightened  herself.    "How  did  you  come  there  ?  I  left 
you  asleep.   Ah,  a  wicked  patient  —  a  malingerer!" 
"The  cabin  was  cold,  so  I  came  out  into  the  sun." 
She  rose  from  her  knees,  took  up  the  small  heap  of  her  washing, 
and,  stepping  lightly  from  stone  to  stone,  came  to  his  side  of  the 
water.   Here,  in  a  square  of  absolute  gold,  she  spread  the  washing 
out  to  dry.    Her  sleeves  were  rolled  up  to  her  shoulders,  her  thick 
and  beautiful  hair  hung  braided  to  her  knee,  she  looked  in  that 
quaint  place  like  an  enchanted  princess  out  of  a  rosy  fairy  tale. 

"O  my  Luve's  like  a  red,  red  rose,"  — 
sang  Edward,  — 

"That's  newly  sprung  in  June: 
O  my  Luve's  like  the  melodic, 
That's  sweetly  played  in  tune!  — " 

Desiree  turned,  came  up  the  pennyroyal  bank,  and  sat  beside  him 
on  the  pine-needle  carpet.  Bending,  he  pressed  his  lips  on  her  bare 
arm. 

"As  fair  art  thou,  my  bonnie  lass, 
So  deep  in  luve  am  I  — " 

In  the  distance  they  heard  the  sound  of  axes  against  the  trees. 
Breastworks  and  rifle-pits  were  in  the  making  over  there.  Light 
curls  of  smoke  told  where  were  camp-fires.  Not  far  away  the  creek 
was  crossed  by  a  wood  road.  Now  a  score  of  horses  with  three  guard 
ian  men  came  down  to  the  ford  to  drink.  Somewhere  a  bugle 
sounded.  Brown  and  black  and  grey,  the  horses  pricked  their  ears; 
then,  satisfied  that  it  was  not  battery  bugle,  dropped  again  to  the 
cool  water.  Out  of  the  forest  across  Little  Pumpkin-Vine  came  a 
steady,  dreamy  humming  —  voices  of  the  Army  of  Tennessee,  en 
camped  here,  encamped  there,  in  this  region  south  of  the  Etowah. 

"I  should  like  to  die  on  a  day  like  this,"  said  Desiree.  "Just  such 
a  day  —  and  life  so  strong  and  sweet !  To  touch,  taste,  smell,  hear, 
see,  feel,  and  know  it  all  —  and  then  to  go,  carrying  the  flavour  with 
you!" 

"With  which  to  set  up  housekeeping  again  ?" 


LITTLE   PUMPKIN-VINE   CREEK      323 

"With  which  to  set  up  housekeeping  again  —  in  a  larger,  better 
house." 

"But  with  old  comrades?" 

She  let  the  pine  needles  stream  through  her  hands.  "Certainly 
with  old  comrades.  Father  .  .  .  Louis  .  .  .  People  who  used  to 
come  to  Cape  Jessamine,  people  I  have  known  elsewhere.  ...  All 
people,  in  fact,  and  all  in  better,  larger  houses  ...  all  old  com 
rades"  —  she  turned  and  kissed  him  —  "and  one  lover." 

"In  a  better,  nobler  house,"  said  Edward.  " But  don't  die,  Desiree 
—  not  yet  —  not  yet  — " 

The  creek  murmured,  the  wind  whispered,  the  wild  bees  hummed 
above  the  flowers.  Somewhere  down  the  stream  was  an  army  forge. 
Clink  !  clink !  went  hammer  against  iron.  On  some  hidden  road,  too, 
guns  were  passing  —  you  heard  the  rumble  and  the  whinnying  of 
the  horses.  In  another  direction  wagons  were  parked;  there  was  a 
sense,  through  vague  openings  in  a  leafy  world,  of  the  white,  bubble- 
like  tops.  More  horses  came  to  the  ford  to  be  watered.  The  sun 
grew  brighter  and  brighter,  climbing  the  sky,  the  pine  and  penny 
royal  more  pungently  alive,  the  voices  in  the  wide  woods  distincter, 
less  like  a  dreamy  wash  of  the  sea.  The  hazel  bushes  across  the 
stream  parted  and  two  men  appeared  with  water-buckets.  They 
dipped  for  their  mess,  adjusted  their  heavy  wet  burdens  and  went 
awray,  sociably  talking. 

"  'T  was  while  we  was  fighting  at  Cassville.  Jake  thought  he  was 
killed,  but  he  wasn't!  Funny  fellow,  but  you  can't  help  liking 
him!" 

"That's  so!  He 's  got  converted.  Converted  last  meeting.  Says 
he  don't  know  but  one  prayer  and  wras  kind  of  surprised  he  re 
membered  that.  Says  it  now  before  every  little  fight  we  go  into. 
Says  — 

11 'Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 

Pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep  — '" 

"Sho!  Everybody  remembers  that!  Taught  it  to  us  most  be 
fore  we  could  talk! 

"  'Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 

Pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep, 
If  I  should  die  before  I  wake 

Pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  take  — '" 


324  CEASE  FIRING 

The  hazel  bushes  closed  and  the  voices  died  like  a  ripple  out  of 
water.  The  light  grew  more  golden,  the  shadows  shorter.  Late 
May  in  Georgia  was  more  hot  than  a  Northern  midsummer,  but 
to-day  a  crisp  breeze  made  the  heat  of  no  moment.  The  air  was  very 
dry,  life-giving.  A  soldier  with  a  fishing-pole  made  his  appearance. 
He  came  along  beneath  the  bank  and  the  pine  tree,  chose  a  deepish 
pool  and  a  rock  to  sit  on,  placed  a  tin  cup  with  bait  beside  the  latter, 
and  had  baited  his  hook  and  cast  the  line  before  he  observed  his 
neighbours.  He  rose  and  saluted,  then  made  a  movement  to  take  up 
his  bait-cup  and  proceed  downstream. 

" No,  no!"  said  Edward.  "Fish  ahead!  But  are  there  any  fish 
there?" 

The  fisherman  sat  down  upon  the  rock.  "I  'm  not  really  expecting 
any.  But  catching  fish  is  not  all  there  is  in  fishing." 

"  Quite  true,"  said  Edward,  and  lay  back  upon  the  purple-brown 
carpet.  Desiree  sat  with  her  hands  about  her  knee,  her  eyes  upon 
a  vast  castle  of  cloud,  rising  pearl-bright,  into  the  azure  sky. 

The  fisherman  fished,  but  caught  nothing.  "I  expect,"  he  said, 
"that  there  is  good  fishing  in  the  Etowah.  Looked  so  the  day  we 
crossed  it." 

"That  was  a  hard  crossing,"  said  Desiree. 

"Hard  enough!"  answered  the  fisherman.  "But  Old  Joe  got  us 
across.  I  am  not  one  of  the  grumblers." 

"There  was  n't  much  grumbling." 

"That's  so!  Army  of  Tennessee's  a  right  fine  body  of  men." 

He  cast  again.  "It's  quieter  than  Sleepy  Hollow  this  morning! 
There  was  a  considerable  rumpus  yesterday.  They  say,  too,  that 
General  Wheeler  got  in  on  their  rear  and  beat  a  brigade  and  cap 
tured  two  hundred  and  fifty  wagons.  I  reckon  we  '11  hear  raindrops 
on  the  roof  before  night!" 

"I  should  n't  be  surprised." 

"These  pesky  little  battles,"  said  the  fisherman.  "I've  stopped 
counting  them  —  Thought  I  had  a  bite!" 

"  Many  a  little  makes  a  mickle." 

"That's  true!  We've  been  fighting  for  a  month,  and  we 're  walk 
ing  round  to-day  like  a  game-cock  looking  at  his  spurs.  Army  of 
Tennessee  and  Joseph  E.  Johnston." 

He  bent  his  eyes  upon  his  pole.   The  wind  sung  in  the  pine  tree, 


LITTLE   PUMPKIN-VINE  CREEK       325 

dink !  clink  1  went  the  forge  downstream.  The  pearly  cloud  castle 
rose  higher.  Off  on  the  left,  where  was  Hardee's  corps,  a  bugle  trilled 
as  sweetly  as  a  bird.  There  were  a  million  forest  odours,  with  the 
pine,  played  upon  by  the  sunshine,  for  dominant.  The  dry  pure  air 
was  life-giving. 

"I  gather,"  said  the  fisherman,  "that  there  are,  on  our  side,  two 
theories  as  to  the  conduct  of  this  war.  The  one  wants  great  crash 
ing  battles  that  shall  force  the  foe  to  cry,  'Hold,  enough!'  —  'Fight 
him  on  sight,  and  without  regard  to  odds.'  The  other  says,  'We 
have  n't  got  many  men,  and  when  they're  gone,  we  have  no  more. 
There's  only  one  set  of  chessmen  in  this  establishment.  So  spare 
your  men.  We 've  got  a  Goliath  to  fight.  Well,  don't  rush  at  him! 
—  Fence  with  him;  maybe  you'll  prove  the  better  fencer.  Don't 
strike  just  to  be  striking;  strike  when  you  see  an  advantage  to  follow! 
You  can't  thrash  him  outright;  he 's  too  big.  But  you  may  wear  him 
out.  Giants  sometimes  lack  a  giant  patience.  This  one  has  a  con 
siderable  clamour  for  peace  behind  him  at  home.  Save  your  men, 
strike  only  when  there 's  sense  in  striking,  and  take  Time  into  your 
councils!  You  may  not  win  this  way,  but  you  certainly  won't  the 
other  way.'  The  first's  the  Administration  and  a  considerable  part 
of  the  press,  and  the  last's  Joseph  E.  Johnston." 

"  '  There  was  a  general  named  Fabius,' "  said  Edward.  —  "You  're 
a  good  observer." 

"I'm  a  better  observer  than  I  am  a  fisherman,"  said  the  disciple 
of  Walton. 

Desiree  stepped  down  the  bank  into  the  square  of  gold  and  gath 
ered  up  her  washing.  With  it  over  one  arm  she  returned  and  gave 
her  hands  to  Edward.  They  said  good-day  to  the  fisherman,  and 
went  away,  up  the  slight  hill,  Edward  doing  well  with  his  stick 
and  an  arm  over  her  shoulder.  They  laughed  like  children  in  the 
sunshine. 

They  had  what  she  called  "tisane"  for  dinner  —  "tisane"  with 
hard- tack  crumbled  in.  A  drummer-boy,  straying  by,  was  given  his 
share.  They  sat  on  billets  of  wood  underneath  the  hop-vine,  ate  and 
drank  and  were  happy.  The  boy  was  fourteen  and  small  for  his  age. 
He  had  a  shock  of  sunburnt  hair  and  a  happy,  freckled  face,  and 
he  said  that  he  hoped  the  war  would  never  stop.  When  every  crumb 
and  drop  was  gone,  he  volunteered  to  "wash  up,  "and  went  whistling 


326  CEASE   FIRING 

down  to  Little  Pumpkin- Vine  with  the  tin  cups  and  spoons  and  small, 
black  kettle. 

Other  soldiers  strayed  past  the  cabin.  An  orderly  appeared,  sent 
by  officers'  mess  of  the th  Virginia.  He  bore,  together  with  en 
quiries  and  messages,  to-morrow's  rations.  A  picket  detail  went 
marching  over  the  hilltop.  About  three  o'clock  came  a  clattering  of 
horses'  hoofs.  The  hill  was  a  fair  post  of  observation,  and  here  was 
the  commanding  general  with  his  staff.  All  stopped  beneath  the 
pine;  Johnston  pointed  with  his  hand,  now  here,  now  there;  his  chief 
of  staff  beside  him  nodding  comprehension. 

Then  the  General,  dismounting,  came  over  to  the  cabin.  "No, 
no!  don't  stand!"  he  said  to  Edward.  "I  only  want  to  ask  Mrs. 
Gary  for  a  cup  of  water.  How  is  the  wound  to-day  ?" 

"Very  much  better,  sir.   I'll  report  for  duty  presently." 

"Don't  hurry,"  said  Johnston,  with  kindness.  "It's  a  mistake  to 
get  well  too  quickly."  He  had  much  warm  magnetism,  tenderness 
with  illness,  an  affectionate  deference  always  toward  women.  He 
took  the  cup  of  water  from  Desiree,  thanked  her,  and  said  that  evi 
dently  the  campaign  had  not  harmed  her.  "Women  always  were 
the  best  soldiers." 

General  Mackall  had  ridden  up.  "There's  many  a  true  word 
said  in  jest,"  he  remarked. 

"I  didn't  say  it  in  jest,  sir,"  said  Johnston.  He  mounted  and 
gathered  up  the  reins,  an  erect  and  soldierly  figure.  "General 
Hood,"  he  said,  "is  moving  from  Allatoona,  and  I  have  ordered 
Hardee's  corps  back  from  the  Dallas  and  Atlanta  road.  There  may 
come  a  general  battle  on  this  ground.  If  it  arrives,  my  dear,"  —  he 
spoke  to  Desiree,  —  "you  apply  for  an  ambulance  and  leave  this 
cabin!" 

Off  he  rode  in  the  golden  light.  At  sunset  came  marching  by  the 

th  Virginia,  going  toward  New  Hope  Church.  The  road  ran 

behind  the  cabin.  Desiree  helped  Edward  out  to  it,  and  they  stood 
in  a  little  patch  of  sunflowers  and  greeted  the  regiment.  The  regi 
ment  to  a  man  greeted  back.  The  colonel  stopped  his  horse  and 
talked,  the  captains  smiled  and  nodded,  the  men  gave  the  two  a 
cheer.  It  was  one  of  the  friendly,  sunshiny  moments  of  war.  The 
regiment  was  like  a  dear  and  good  family;  everywhere  in  and  out 
ran  the  invisible  threads  of  kindliness.  The  regiment  passed,  the 


LITTLE   PUMPKIN-VINE   CREEK       327 

rhythmic  beat  of  feet  dying  from  this  stretch  of  the  road.  Desiree 
and  Edward  went  back  to  the  cabin  through  the  languorous,  South 
ern  dusk,  with  the  lanterns  of  the  fire-flies  beginning,  and  the  large 
moths  sailing  by.  There  was  a  moon,  and  all  night,  in  the  wood 
behind  the  cabin,  a  mocking-bird  was  singing. 

The  next  day  and  the  next  and  the  next  there  was  fighting  —  not 
"a  great,  crashing  battle,"  but  stubborn  fighting.  It  waxed  furious 
enough  where  Hooker  struck  Stewart's  division  of  Hood's  at  New 
Hope  Church,  and  where,  on  the  twenty-eighth,  Cleburne  and 
Wheeler  met  and  forced  back  Palmer  and  Howard;  but  when  calm 
came  again  only  a  couple  of  thousand  of  each  colour  lay  dead  or 
wounded  around  New  Hope  Church. 

The  calm  fell  on  Sunday.  Edward  and  Desiree,  sitting  beneath 
the  pine  tree,  marked  the  cannons'  diminuendo.  It  was  a  hot  and 
heavy  day  and  the  dead  and  wounded  were  on  their  hearts.  Yet  to 
them,  too,  it  was  fearfully  an  everyday  matter.  The  time  to  visual 
ize  what  will  fall  under  the  harrow  of  war  is  before  the  harrow  is 
set  in  motion.  Afterwards  comes  in  Inevitableness  with  iron  lips, 
and  Fatalism  with  unscrutinizing  gaze,  and  Use  with  filmed  eyes, 
and  Instinct  with  her  cry,  "Do  not  look  too  closely,  seeing  one  must 
keep  one's  senses!"  and  Old  Habit  with  her  motto,  "True  children 
do  as  their  fathers  did." —  And  so  at  last,  on  both  sides,  from  the 
general  to  the  drummer-boy,  from  the  civil  ruler  to  the  woman 
scraping  lint,  no  one  looks  very  closely  at  what  falls  beneath  the 
harrow.  Madness  lies  that  way,  and  in  war  one  must  be  very  sane. 
No  one  escaped  the  taint  of  not  looking,  not  even  the  two  beneath 
the  pine  tree. 

Off  in  the  horizon  clouds  were  piling  up.  Presently  there  was  heard 
a  mutter  of  thunder.  Edward  and  Desiree  watched  the  sky  darken 
and  the  big  pine  begin  to  sway.  In  the  distance  there  was  yet  an 
occasional  boom  of  cannon.  "That  is  toward  Dallas,"  said  Edward. 
"Earth  thunder  and  heaven  thunder." 

The  lightning  flashed.  The  earth  voices  began  to  lose  out,  the 
aerial  ones  to  gather  strength.  A  wind  lifted  the  dust  and  the  small 
dry  debris  of  grass  and  herb.  The  old  pine  cones  came  shaking 
down.  The  thunder  began  to  peal.  Desiree  rose.  "We  must  go 
indoors.  It  has  the  right  of  way  now  —  the  old,  old  storm." 

As  they  reached  the  cabin  the  thunder  grew  loud  above  them. 


328  CEASE   FIRING 

The  dust  of  the  earth  went  by  in  a  whirlwind.  Rain  was  falling,  in 
heavy  pellets  like  lead,  but  as  yet  it  had  not  lightened  the  oppression. 
The  two  leaned  against  the  doorway  and  watched.  A  blinding  flash, 
a  sound  as  of  falling  battlements  of  the  sky,  and  the  pine  tree  was 
blasted  before  them. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

KENNESAW 

THE  blue  army  was  massed  beyond  Noonday  Creek,  in  front 
of  Pine  Mountain,  and  on  the  Burnt  Hickory  road.  The 
grey  held  a  line  from  Gilgal  Church  to  a  point  beyond  the 
Marietta  and  Ackworth  road.  It  was  the  fourteenth  of  June  — 
news  just  received  by  way  of  Atlanta  of  Grant's  movement  toward 
the  James.  On  the  crest  of  Pine  Mountain  was  a  grey  outpost  — 
Bates's  Division  of  Hardee's  corps.  At  Gilgal  Church,  Johnston,  on 
his  chestnut  horse,  was  in  conversation  with  that  churchman-mili 
tant  with  a  Spartan  name  —  Lieutenant-General  Leonidas  Polk. 
Hardee  rode  up.  "  General,  I  should  be  grateful  if  you  would  come 
with  me  to  the  top  of  the  mountain  yonder.  Bates  there  is  too 
exposed." 

The  three,  Johnston  with  Hardee  and  Polk,  rode  through  the 
thick  brush,  by  a  narrow  and  rough  bridle-path,  up  to  the  crown  of 
the  low  mountain.  Dismounting  in  the  rear  of  Bates's  works  they 
went  forward  on  foot,  the  men  saluting  where  they  lay  behind  heaped 
logs.  Overhanging  the  slope  was  a  parapet,  and  the  three  walked 
here,  opening  their  field-glasses  as  they  walked.  Before  them 
stretched  the  wooded  country,  and  full  in  sight,  the  heavy  lines  of 
the  foe.  Not  a  thousand  feet  away  a  field-battery  held  a  hilltop. 

"Wait  till  nightfall,"  said  Johnston,  "then  let  Bates  join  you  at 
Gilgal." 

He  lowered  his  field-glass.  Out  of  the  mouth  of  one  of  the  blue 
cannon  on  the  hilltop  came  a  puff  of  white  smoke.  The  shot  cut 
away  a  bough  of  the  oak  under  which  the  three  were  standing.  "  Cer 
tainly  this  parapet  is  too  exposed,"  said  Hardee.  "Come  this  way, 
General."  As  they  moved  diagonally  across  the  spur,  the  blue  guns 
opened  full  pack.  A  shot  passed  through  the  breast  of  Leonidas 
Polk,  sometime  Bishop  of  Louisiana.  He  fell,  lying  at  full  length 
upon  the  summit,  dead,  with  a  pleasant  look  upon  his  face. 

On  the  sixteenth,  grey  left  and  blue  right  shifted  positions,  coming 


330  CEASE   FIRING 

again  to  face  each  other.  There  was  skirmishing  and  cavalry  right 
ing.  On  the  nineteenth,  the  two  fencers  again  changed  ground.  The 
grey  left,  Hardee,  now  stretched  across  the  Lost  Mountain  and 
Marietta  road;  the  grey  right,  Hood,  lay  beyond  the  Canton  road; 
and  Loring,  who  had  succeeded  Polk,  held  flank  and  crest  of  Kenne- 
saw  Mountain.  At  once,  grey  and  blue,  the  interminable  entrench 
ing  began  again,  the  grey  throwing  up  earthworks  and  defences,  the 
blue  making  lines  of  approach.  Throughout  the  latter  half  of  June, 
hour  after  hour,  day  after  day,  night  after  night,  there  was  fighting. 
The  first  half  of  the  month  it  had  poured  rain.  Torrent  after  torrent 
had  successfully  interfered  with  man's  operations.  Under  streaming 
skies,  with  the  earth  semi-liquid,  the  roads  bottomless,  the  unend 
ing  forest  like  oozy  growths  of  an  ocean  floor,  entrenching,  ma 
noeuvres  for  advantage  of  position,  attack  and  parry  —  one  and 
all  had  been  attended  with  difficulties.  General  Rain  and  General 
Mud  had  as  usual  put  their  unrecorded  fingers  into  the  current  of 
events.  But  now,  though  sun  and  cloud  still  fought,  the  roads  were 
drying  and  there  was  fighting  every  day. 

Up  on  the  crest  of  Kennesaw,  Edward  Gary,  lying  with  his  men 
behind  a  work  of  earth  and  logs,  saw  the  sun  rise  and  the  sun  set,  and 
often  in  the  dead  of  night  the  solemn  pomp  of  stars.  All  around 
him,  beneath  the  stars,  were  the  shadowy  forms  of  sleeping  men. 
The  footfall  of  the  pickets  could  be  heard,  that  and  the  breathing 
of  the  sleepers.  Slowly  came  on  the  grey  dawn;  reveille  sounded 
and  the  day's  work  was  before  you.  Night  came  again  and  the  stars 
and  the  shadowy  forms  of  men  —  though  not  all,  who  were  breath 
ing  the  night  before,  breathed  now  where  they  slept. 

Gary's  mind  ranged  far  from  the  comfortless  top  of  Kennesaw. 
First  of  all  and  oftenest  it  looked  southward,  across  the  forest,  to 
where,  in  a  farmhouse  near  Smyrna  Church,  De*siree  slept  or  waked. 
It  paused  there,  suspended,  watching  her  where  she  lay,  then  passed 
from  the  quiet  room  and  swept  in  widening  circles  around  the  core 
of  life.  .  .  .  This  Georgian  battle-ground!  Fifty  days  now  of  a 
great  strategic  campaign  —  Dalton  and  the  spring-time  far  behind 
—  Atlanta  and  the  pitched  battle  that  must  toss  victory  into  this 
camp  or  into  that  drawing  nearer.  The  Army  of  Tennessee,  stanch 
and  cheerful  even  in  the  rain-filled  rifle-pits  on  Kennesaw;  gaunt, 
heroic,  like  its  brother  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia.  .  .  .  Not 


KENNESAW  331 

the  Georgia  battle-grounds  alone;  —  all  battle-fields  —  all  the  South 
one  battle-field,  fringed  and  crossed  with  weary,  weary,  weary 
marches!  Suddenly  he  saw  how  red  were  the  rivers  and  how  many 
houses  were  blackened  ruins.  There  was  a  great  loneliness,  and  he 
thought  he  saw  children  straying,  lost,  across  the  plain.  Edward 
sat  up  and  rested  his  forehead  on  his  hands.  "  What  is  it  all  for  ?  " 
he  thought.  "It  is  absurd."  The  sky  was  clear  to-night.  He  looked 
up  at  the  Great  Bear  and  the  Dragon.  "We  are  in  a  world  of 
contradictories.  There  is  the  heroic,  the  piteous,  and  the  beautiful, 
there  is  a  loud  and  sweet  music,  —  and  yet  it  is  all  in  the  service  of 
the  King  of  the  Dwarfs,  of  a  gnome  with  a  gnome's  brain.  .  .  .  How 
to  change  the  service  ?" 

In  the  cold  hour  before  the  dawn,  he  slept,  to  be  presently  awak 
ened  by  the  sound  of  the  pickets'  pieces  and  a  night  attack.  Half 
an  hour's  fighting  rolled  it  back,  down  Kennesaw,  but  when  it  was 
done  the  men  were  kept  awake  lest  the  wave  should  return. 

They  talked,  behind  the  breastworks,  while  the  stars  faded. 
"Wish  it  was  a  false  alarm!  Wish  I'd  wake  up  and  find  myself 
asleep." 

"O  God,  yes!  In  my  bed  at  home." 

"  Talking  about  false  alarms  —  Did  you  ever  hear  about  Spauld- 
ing?" 

"WhatSpaulding?  —  No." 

"It  was  in  Mississippi;  —  Grant  somewhere  near,  but  nobody 
knew  how  near;  —  all  of  us  scattered  over  a  few  hills  and  marshes, 
keeping  pretty  good  lookout,  but  yet  knowing  that  nobody  could  be 
within  a  day's  march  of  us.  In  comes  Spaulding  in  haste  to  head 
quarters,  to  the  general's  tent.  In  he  comes,  pale  and  excited,  and 
he  brings  a  piece  of  news  that  was  indeed  alarming!  He  had  been 
on  a  hill  overlooking  the  river  —  I  forget  its  name  —  there 's  such  an 
infinity  of  rivers  in  this  country!  Anyhow  he  had  seen  the  most 
amazing  thing,  and  that  was  what  he  had  come  like  lightning  back 
to  the  camp  to  tell  the  general  about.  A  column  of  the  enemy  was 
crossing  the  river  —  they  had  laid  pontoons  and  they  were  crossing 
by  them  and  by  a  ford  as  well.  It  was  a  large  force  —  a  division 
undoubtedly,  possibly  a  corps.  Artillery  was  crossing  as  he  looked. 
The  ford  was  black  with  infantry,  and  there  was  cavalry  on  the  far 
ther  bank.  A  man  on  a  great  black  horse  was  directing.  On  this 


332  CEASE  FIRING 

side  was  a  man  on  a  very  tall  grey  horse,  a  man  with  a  bloody  hand 
kerchief  tied  round  his  head  under  his  hat.  The  troops  saluted  him 
as  they  came  out  of  the  water.  All  were  crossing  very  silently  and 
swiftly.  Spaulding  had  run  all  the  way  from  the  hill;  he  had  to  put 
his  hand  to  his  side  as  he  talked,  he  was  so  breathed.  —  Well,  im 
mediately  there  was  activity  enough  at  headquarters,  but  still  activ 
ity  with  a  doubt,  it  was  so  amazing!  What  were  the  pickets  doing 
—  to  say  nothing  of  the  cavalry?  Well,  the  long  roll  was  beaten,  and 
everybody  scurried  to  arms,  and  off  went  two  aides  at  full  speed  to 
the  hilltop  to  examine  that  thief  in  the  night-time  crossing,  and 
Spaulding  went  behind  the  one  on  the  strongest  horse.  He  was  just 
as  calm  and  sure.  'Yes,  it's  amazing,  but  it's  so!  I  think  the  man 
on  the  black  horse  is  Grant.  I  could  n't  see  the  face  of  the  man  on 
the  grey  horse — only  the  bloody  cloth  around  his  head.'  Well,  they 
got  there,  all  the  fuss  behind  them  of  the  regiments  forming  —  they 
got  to  the  hilltop  and  there  was  the  river  sure  enough  before  them, 
just  as  the  aides  knew  it  would  be.  'Now,  you  see! '  says  Spaulding, 
for  he  had  been  hurt  by  the  way  everybody,  even  the  general,  said, 
*  Impossible!'  —  'See  what?'  say  the  aides.  'Are  you  mad?'  asks 
Spaulding  impatiently.  'The  bridge  and  the  ford  and  the  crossing 
guns  and  infantry,  the  man  on  the  black  horse  and  the  man  on  the 
grey  with  the  cloth  around  his  head.'  —  One  of  the  aides  rides  down 
the  hillside  toward  the  river  and  finds  a  picket.  'Have  you  seen  any 
thing  unusual  up  or  down  or  across  the  river  ? '  '  No,'  says  the  picket, 
or  words  to  that  effect.  'Have  you?" — Well,  that  aide  goes  back 
and  he  takes  Spaulding  by  the  shoulders  and  shakes  him.  And  then 
the  two,  they  stand  on  either  side  of  him,  and  the  one  says,  'Look 
now,  and  pretty  quick  about  it,  and  tell  us  what  you  see!'  —  'You 
damned  fools,7  says  Spaulding,  'I  see  a  column  crossing,  infantry 
and  artillery,  a  man  on  a  black  horse  directing,  and  a  man  on  a  grey 
horse  with  a  bloody  cloth  — '  And  then  he  stopped  speaking  and 
stared,  the  colour  going  out  of  his  face  and  his  eyes  starting  from 
his  head.  And  presently  he  just  slipped  like  water  down  between 
them  and  sat  upon  the  earth.  'Great  God!'  he  said,  'there  is  n't 
anything  there ! '  —  So  they  took  him  back  to  headquarters,  the 
drums  still  beating  and  everybody  getting  into  ranks  — " 

"What  did  they  do  to  him  ?" 

"Well,  if  he'd  been  a  drinking  man  he'd  have  been  drumhead 


KENNESAW  333 

•court-martialled  and  shot.  But  he  was  n't  —  he  was  a  nice,  clean, 
manly  kind  of  young  fellow,  a  great  mathematician,  and  the  boys  all 
liked  him,  and  his  officers,  too.  And  he  was  so  covered  with  confu 
sion  't  was  pitiful.  The  general's  a  mighty  good  man.  He  said  those 
things  happened  sometimes,  and  he  quoted  Shakespeare  that  there 
are  more  experiences  in  heaven  and  earth  —  or  words  to  that  effect. 
Spaulding  was  put  under  arrest,  and  there  was  enquiry  and  all  that, 
but  at  the  last  he  was  given  a  caution  and  sent  back  to  his  regiment. 
But  he  kind  of  pined  away  and  took  to  mooning,  and  in  the  next 
battle  he  was  killed  —  and  killed,  that  was  the  funny  thing,  by  a 
pistol  shot  from  a  man  on  a  grey  horse  with  a  bloody  handkerchief 
tied  round  his  head!  He  shot  Spaulding  through  the  brain." 

The  sun  pushed  a  red  rim  above  the  eastern  horizon.  The  day's 
work  began.  Fighting— and  fighting  —  and  righting  again  on  Ken- 
nesaw  and  over  the  rolling  country  from  which  Kennesaw  arose! 
On  the  twentieth,  Wheeler  with  a  thousand  horsemen  crashed 
against  and  drove  a  force  of  blue  cavalry.  On  the  twenty-second, 
on  the  Powder  Spring  road,  Hood  struck  Schofield  and  Hooker.  The 
divisions  of  Hindman  and  Stevenson  were  engaged  here,  advancing 
with  heroism  under  a  plunging  fire,  musketry  and  artillery,  and 
driving  the  blue  from  their  first  to  their  second  line  of  entrench 
ments.  The  ground  was  fearfully  difficult.  The  blue  had  every 
where  epaulements  from  which  they  brought  to  bear  upon  the 
charging  grey  a  terrible  raking  fire  of  grape  and  canister.  Steven 
son's  men  fell  thick  and  fast;  when  night  laid  her  stilling  hand  upon 
the  guns,  he  had  lost  in  killed  and  wounded  eight  hundred  and 
seventy  men.  On  the  twenty-fourth,  the  blue  came  in  line  of  battle 
against  Hardee,  and  were  repulsed.  On  the  twenty-fifth,  they  again 
struck  Stevenson,  and  were  repulsed.  All  day  the  twenty-sixth 
there  was  bitter  skirmishing.  On  the  twenty-seventh,  upstormed 
the  battle  of  Kennesaw  Mountain. 

It  began  in  the  early  morning  with  all  of  Sherman's  guns.  They 
shelled  the  crest  and  sides  of  Kennesaw;  roaring,  they  poured  fierce 
death  into  the  air,  hoping  that  he  would  find  many  victims.  He 
found  many,  though  not  so  many  as  the  blue  hoped.  The  atmosphere 
rocked  and  grew  smoky;  it  was  a  fierce,  prolonged  cannonade.  Dur 
ing  the  furious  overture,  behind  the  tall,  fretted  screen  of  smoke, 
the  blues  were  forming  in  two  lines  of  battle,  long  and  thick. 


334  CEASE  FIRING 

The  grey  position  was  exceedingly  strong.  The  grey  said  as  much, 
contemning  the  shells  that  shrieked  and  dropped. 

"We're  pretty  well  fixed!  W.  T.  Sherman '11  find  there  ain't  no 
buried  treasure  on  Kennesaw!  General  Joe's  going  to  win  out  on 
this  campaign." 

"We're  going  to  have  a  battle  here.  But  I  don't  think  it's  going 
to  be  the  big  battle.  I  think  the  big  battle 's  going  to  be  at  Atlanta." 

"Maybe  so.  Anyhow  he'll  win  out,  and  that's  all  I'm  caring 
about!  —  This  place's  a  regular  sea-beach  for  shells." 

There  were  in  the  company  a  father  and  son  —  a  tall,  lean, 
lantern-jawed,  silent  man  of  sixty  and  a  tall,  lean,  lantern-jawed, 
silent  man  of  thirty-five.  Except  that  they  messed  and  foraged 
together  they  did  not  seem  to  have  much  to  say  to  each  other. 
They  were  near  Edward  where  he  stood  behind  the  rifle-pit. 

"I  reckon,"  said  the  elder,  "that  the  cotton  air  blooming  mighty 
pretty,  'long  about  now." 

"I  reckon  it  air,"  said  the  younger. 

The  cannonading  did  not  cease,  but  now,  while  all  the  guns  thun 
dered,  the  blue  pushed  forward  a  thick  line  of  skirmishers.  Behind 
them  showed,  between  the  trees,  wide  and  long  and  dark,  two  bands 
of  infantry.  The  grey  batteries  that  had  been  sparing  ammunition 
now  ceased  to  spare  it.  They  opened  full  cry.  Grey  and  blue,  the 
noise  was  appalling. 

"I  reckon,"  said  the  elder  tall  man,  "that  the  mill  wheel  air  turn 
ing  to-day." 

"I  reckon  it  air,"  said  the  younger. 

The  blue  moved  forward  to  the  assault,  —  Schofield  and  Mc- 
Pherson  and  Thomas.  They  came  on  boldly  and  well,  cheering,  with 
waved  banners,  now  lost  amid  the  trees,  now  seen  as  clearly  as  aught 
could  be  seen  under  and  in  the  sulphurous  battle-cloud.  They  were 
striking  right  and  left  and  centre.  On  they  came  —  larger  —  larger 
-  Full  in  their  faces  sprang  the  fire  of  the  trenches. 

The  attack  just  here  was  desperate.  The  blue  swarmed  through 
the  felled  trees,  seized  an  advanced  breastwork,  swarmed  on  toward 
the  second  and  stronger  line.  This  line  beat  them  back,  burst  from 
the  trenches,  rushed  forward  and  down,  retook  the  captured  work, 
struck  a  flag  there  upon  the  parapet,  and,  hurrying  on,  fell  upon  the 
backward-sinking  foe.  There  followed  hand-to-hand  fighting,  with 


KENNESAW  335 

much  carnage.  The  two  tall  men  were  in  front.  A  minie  ball  cut 
the  father  down.  He  lay  across  a  hummock  of  earth  from  behind 
which  two  or  three  grey  men  were  firing.  The  son  fought  on  above 
the  dead  body.  The  face  looked  at  him  each  time  he  brought  rifle 
to  shoulder.  The  plain  gravity  of  it,  living,  was  gone;  now  it  was 
contorted  like  a  gargoyle.  A  third  line  of  blue  came  shouting  up  to 
reinforce  the  other  two;  there  ran  a  grey  order  to  fall  back  to  the 
earthworks.  The  tall,  lean  man,  his  musket  yet  in  hand,  stooped, 
put  his  arms  under  the  elder's  body,  lifted  it,  and  with  it  across  his 
shoulder  started  up  the  mountain-side.  An  officer  ordered  him  to 
put  the  body  down,  but  he  shook  his  head.  "I  could  n't  do  that,  sir. 
It's  father."  Just  outside  the  breastwork  an  exploding  shell  killed 
him,  too. 

Up  and  over  the  slopes  of  Kennesaw  rushed  another  charge. 
The  grey  clutched  with  it,  locked  and  swayed.  Down  it  went,  down 
the  slopes  of  Kennesaw.  Mountain  and  surrounding  foot  country 
were  wrapped  in  smoke.  For  three  hours  the  clamour  held;  —  with 
onslaught  and  repulse  and  heavy  loss  to  the  blue.  At  last,  in  the  hot 
and  heavy  noon,  the  North  drew  sullenly  back,  beaten  on  Kenne 
saw. 

The th  Virginia  moved  from  the  line  it  had  successfully  held 

to  a  point  on  the  southern  face  it  was  ordered  to  entrench  and 
hold.  Moving  so,  it  passed  over  ground  where  lay  many  dead  and 
injured.  This  had  been  the  rear  of  the  position.  Shells  had  not 
spared  it.  They  had  exploded  among  ammunition  wagons  and  am 
bulances,  setting  afire  and  consuming  the  hut  that  had  been  divis 
ion  headquarters,  injuring  various  noncombatants,  working  wrack 
and  ruin  here  as  among  the  trenches.  The  regiment  halting  for  a 
moment,  Edward  had  time  to  observe  the  corpse  of  a  drummer-boy, 
lying  in  the  briar  and  grass  beneath  a  splintered  tree.  The  shell  had 
struck  it  full  in  the  breast,  tearing  the  trunk  asunder.  Above  the 
red  ghastliness  rose  a  young  face  round  and  freckled.  Edward  knew 
it  for  that  of  the  drummer-boy  who  wanted  the  war  never  to  stop. 

Two  men  in  the  rank  nearest  him  were  talking  of  money.  "  You 
have  paper  money  and  you  have  war,  and  in  war  you  always  over 
issue.  We  did  it  in  the  old  Revolution  —  and  there  were  the  French 
assignats  —  and  Great  Britain  did  the  same  thing  when  she  was 
fighting  Napoleon.  You  over-issue  and  over-issue  and  the  whole 


336  CEASE   FIRING 

thing  depreciates.  Sometimes  it's  slow  and  sometimes  it's  hand 
over  hand.  And  then  you  can't  redeem,  and  the  whole  bottom 
drops  out  — " 

The  regiment  moved  forward.  The  woods  on  Kennesaw  were 
afire. 

That  night,  from  the  house  near  Smyrna  Church,  Desiree  watched 
the  line  of  flame.  She  stood  with  three  women  in  a  cotton-field  and 
watched.  One  of  the  women  was  old,  and  her  sons  were  there  where 
the  flame  was.  She  rocked  herself  to  and  fro,  and  she  beat  her  hands 
together  and  she  cursed  war.  One  of  the  women  had  a  babe  in  her 
arms.  It  wailed,  and  she  opened  her  dress,  and  put  her  breast  to  its 
mouth.  The  wind  loosened  her  hair.  It  blew  about  her,  framing  her 
brooding  young  face.  Simple  and  straight  she  stood  amid  the  cotton, 
giving  life  more  life,  while  her  dark  eyes  were  filled  with  the  image 
of  death.  The  wind  blew  the  smoke  over  the  cotton-fields;  to  the 
women's  ears  it  brought  alike  the  groaning. 

Two  days  later,  Sherman  in  Georgia,  like  Grant  in  Virginia,  re 
sorted  again  to  a  turning  movement.  South  and  east  he  pushed  his 
right,  until  it  threatened  to  crook  between  Johnston  and  Atlanta. 
Johnston  lifted  the  Army  of  Tennessee  from  Kennesaw  and  set  it 
down  at  Smyrna  Church.  In  its  rear  now  was  the  Chattahoochee, 
its  bridges  covered  by  the  Georgia  militia.  A  very  few  miles  behind 
the  Chattahoochee  was  Atlanta,  fairly  fortified.  Smyrna  Church 
and  Station  saw  heavy,  continued  skirmishing.  On  the  fourth,  Sher 
man  pushed  Schofield  and  McPherson  yet  farther  south,  curving  like 
a  scimitar  upon  the  Smyrna  position.  His  advance  thrust  the  Georgia 
militia  back  to  Nickajack  Ridge,  baring  the  approach  to  the  river. 
That  night  Johnston  moved  from  Smyrna  and  took  up  position  on 
the  north  bank  of  Chattahoochee.  Here  were  works  prepared  in  ad 
vance,  and  here  for  several  days  the  hours  were  filled  with  skirmish 
ing.  Sherman  had  brought  up,  hot  foot,  the  remainder  of  the  blue 
army  from  Kennesaw.  "We  ought,"  he  says,  "to  have  caught 
Johnston  on  this  retreat,  but  he  had  prepared  the  way  too  well." 

The  Chattahoochee  was  a  fordable  stream.  On  the  eighth,  some 
miles  above  the  grey  entrenchments,  Sherman  crossed  over  two 
army  corps.  On  the  ninth,  the  Army  of  Tennessee  crossed  the  Chat 
tahoochee,  and  took  up  position  behind  Peach  Tree  Creek,  a  bold 


KENNESAW  337 

affluent  of  that  river.  The  ground  was  rough,  seamed  with  ravines. 
It  was  high  and  convex  to  the  foe.  Behind  it  was  a  fortified  town,  fit 
base  for  a  culminating  battle.  "About  the  middle  of  June,"  says 
Joseph  E.  Johnston,  "  Captain  Grant,  of  the  Engineers,  was  in 
structed  to  strengthen  the  fortifications  of  Atlanta  materially,  on 
the  side  toward  Peach  Tree  Creek,  by  the  addition  of  redoubts  and 
by  converting  barbette  into  embrasure  batteries^  T  also  obtained 
promise  of  seven  seacoast  rifles  from  General  D.  H.  Maury,  to  be 
mounted  on  that  front.  Colonel  Presstman  was  instructed  to  join 
Captain  Grant  with  his  subordinates,  in  this  work  of  strengthen 
ing  the  defences  of  Atlanta,  especially  between  the  Augusta  and 
Marietta  roads,  as  the  enemy  was  approaching  on  that  side.  For 
the  same  reason  a  position  on  the  high  ground  looking  down  into 
the  valley  of  Peach  Tree  Creek  was  selected  for  the  army,  from 
which  it  might  engage  the  enemy  if  he  should  expose  himself  in  the 
passage  of  the  stream.  The  position  of  each  division  was  marked 
and  pointed  out  to  its  staff  officers."  "And,"  says  the  Federal 
General  Howard,  "Johnston  had  planned  to  attack  Sherman  at 
Peach  Tree  Creek,  expecting  just  such  a  division  between  our  wings 
as  we  made." 

For  a  week  Sherman  made  feints  and  demonstrations.  The  end 
of  that  time  found  the  two  armies  actually  confronted.  Behind  the 
two  there  had  fallen  into  the  abyss  of  time  seventy  days  of  hard  and 
skilful  fencing.  Each  had  felt  the  rapier  point,  but  no  vital  spot 
had  been  reached.  Each  had  lost  blood;  thousands  lay  quiet  forever 
in  the  dark  woods  and  by  the  creeks  of  that  hundred  and  twenty 
miles.  Each  had  been  at  odd  times  reinforced;  the  accession  in 
strength  had  covered  the  loss.  On  the  last  day  of  June  the  Fed 
eral  "effective  strength  for  offensive  purposes"  is  given  as  one 
hundred  and  six  thousand,  nine  hundred  and  seventy  men.  On 
the  same  day  Johnston's  effective  strength  is  given  as  fifty- 
four  thousand  and  eighty-five  men.  General  Sherman  states  that 
throughout  the  campaign  he  knew  his  numbers  to  be  double  those 
of  Johnston.  He  could  afford  to  lose  two  to  one  without  disturbing 
the  relative  strength  of  the  armies. 

On  the  evening  of  the  seventeenth  of  July  there  was  delivered 
to  the  commander  of  the  Army  of  Tennessee  a  telegram  from 
Richmond.  It  read,  — 


338  CEASE  FIRING 

"Lieutenant- General  J.  B.  Hood  has  been  commissioned  to  the 
temporary  rank  of  general  under  the  late  law  of  Congress.  I  am  di 
rected  by  the  Secretary  of  War  to  inform  you  that,  as  you  have  failed 
to  arrest  the  advance  of  the  enemy  to  the  vicinity  of  Atlanta,  and 
express  no  confidence  that  you  can  defeat  or  repel  him,  you  are 
hereby  relieved  from  the  command  of  the  Army  and  Department  of 
Tennessee,  which  you  will  immediately  turn  over  to  General  Hood. 
"S.  COOPER,  Adjutant  and  Inspector-General" 

Hardee,  coming  presently  to  headquarters,  was  shown  the  tele 
gram.  Johnston  sat  writing.  Several  of  his  staff  were  in  waiting, 
one  with  pale  face  and  set  lips,  another  with  eyes  that  winked  back 
the  tears. 

Hardee  read.   "I  don't  believe  it,"  he  said. 

"A  thing  may  be  both  unbelievable  and  a  fact,"  said  Johnston, 
writing.  "  Well,  I  Ve  got  my  wound.  It 's  pretty  deep  —  so  deep  that 
I  scarcely  feel  it." 

He  rose  from  the  table  and  going  to  the  window  stood  looking  out 
at  Antares,  red  in  the  heavens.  "I  have  sent  out  the  orders  trans 
ferring  the  command,"  he  said.  "It's  a  strange  world,  Hardee." 

"Sometimes  I  think  it's  a  half-crazy  one,  sir,"  said  Hardee,  with 
a  shaking  voice.  "I  know  what  the  army's  going  to  think  about 
it- 

"I  wish  as  little  said  as  possible,"  said  Johnston.  "It  is  the  only 
way  to  take  —  wounds." 

He  came  back  to  the  table,  sat  down,  and  began  to  write.  "There 
are  certain  memoranda  of  'plans  — "  Through  the  window  came  a 
sound  of  horses  stopping  at  the  door,  followed  by  a  noise  of  steps  in 
the  hall.  "Here  is  General  Hood,"  said  Johnston,  and  rose. 

One  of  his  colonels,  in  his  official  report,  speaks  as  follows:  "On 
the  seventeenth  of  July  the  commanding  general  published  an 
address  to  the  army  and  announced  that  he  would  attack  General 
Sherman's  army  so  soon  as  it  should  cross  the  Chattahoochee.  It 
was  understood  that  the  enemy  was  crossing  at  Roswell  Factory 
beyond  the  right  flank  of  the  army  and  east  of  Peach  Tree  Creek. 
.  .  .  The  order  of  battle  was  received  with  enthusiasm  and  the  most 
confident  spirit  prevailed.  Next  day,  the  eighteenth,  while  we  were 
forming  to  march  from  our  bivouac  to  the  right,  a  rumour  prevailed 


KENNESAW  339 

that  General  Johnston  had  been  removed  from  command,  and  after 
we  had  marched  some  distance  on  the  road  to  Atlanta  a  courier 
handed  me  a  circular  order  from  General  Hood,  announcing  General 
Johnston's  removal  and  assuming  command.  Shortly  after,  the 
farewell  address  of  General  Johnston  was  received  and  read  to  the 
regiment.  It  is  due  to  truth  to  say  that  the  reception  of  these  orders 
produced  the  most  despondent  feeling  in  my  command.  The  loss  of 
the  commanding  general  was  felt  to  be  irreparable.  Continuing  the 
march  and  passing  by  his  headquarters,  Walker's  division  passed 
at  the  shoulder,  the  officers  saluting,  and  most  of  the  latter  and  hun 
dreds  of  the  men  taking  off  their  hats.  It  had  been  proposed  to  halt 
and  cheer,  but  General  Johnston,  hearing  our  intention,  requested 
that  the  troops  pass  by  in  silence." 

"The  news,"  said  Fighting  Joe  Hooker,  —  "the  news  that  Gen 
eral  Johnston  had  been  removed  from  the  command  of  the  army 
opposed  to  us  was  received  by  our  officers  with  universal  rejoicing." 

"Heretofore,"  said  Sherman,  "the  fighting  has  been  as  Johnston 
pleased,  but  now  it  shall  be  as  I  please." 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THUNDER    RUN 

YES,  Mr.  Cole,"  said  Christianna,  in  her  soft,  drawling  voice; 
"it's  just  like  you  say.   Life's  dead." 
Sairy,  sitting  in  the  toll-house  door,  threaded  her  needle. 
"You  an'  Tom,  Christianna,  air  awful  young  yet!  Life  ain't  dead. 
She's  sick,  I'll  allow,  but,  my  land!  she's  stood  a  power  of  sick 
nesses!" 

"It  seems  right  dead  to  me,"  said  Christianna. 

She  leaned  her  head  against  the  pillar  of  the  toll-house  porch, 
her  sunbonnet  fallen  back  from  her  fair  hair.  The  wild-rose  colour 
still  clung,  but  her  face  had  a  wistf ulness.  The  little  ragged  garden  was 
gay  with  bloom,  but  it  was  apparent  that  there  had  been  no  garden 
ing  for  a  very  long  time.  The  yellow  cat  slept  beneath  the  white 
phlox.  Thunder  Run  Mountain  hung  in  sunshine,  and  Thunder 
Run's  voice  made  a  steady  murmur  in  the  air.  Tom,  with  his  tremb 
ling  old  hands,  folded  a  newspaper  and  put  it  beneath  the  empty 
toll-box.  He  knew  every  word  of  it;  there  was  no  use  in  going  over 
it  any  more. 

"They  don't  go  into  details  enough,"  said  Tom;  "I  want  to  know 
how  the  boys  look,  and  what  they're  saying." 

"New  Market! "  said  Sairy.  "All  them  children.  I  can't  get  New 
Market  out  of  my  head." 

"I've  been  down  to  Three  Oaks  for  a  day,"  spoke  Christianna. 
"Mrs.  Cleave  would  n't  talk  about  New  Market,  but  it  seemed  like 
Miss  Miriam  could  n't  keep  away  from  it.  Lexington  —  an'  the  ca 
dets  marchin'  at  dawn  —  marchin'  with  their  white  flag  with  Wash 
ington  on  it  —  marchin'  so  trim  down  the  Valley  Pike  — " 

"Fawns  fighting  for  the  herd,"  said  Tom. 

"An'  General  Breckinridge  welcomin'  them  —  an'  some  troops 
that  wanted  to  make  fun  singin',  'Rock-a-bye,  baby,  on  the  tree-top'  — 
an'  Sunday  mornin'  comin',  an'  the  battle  — 

"And  that  was  a  hard  field,"  said  Tom,  "to  plough  on  a  Sunday 
morning." 


THUNDER   RUN  341 

"Mrs.  Cleave  said  that  once  before  there  was  a  Children's  Cru 
sade  an'  that  no  good  came  of  it.  She  said  that  when  the  old  began 
to  kill  the  young  Nature  herself  must  be  turning  dizzy.  An'  Miss 
Miriam  read  every  paper  an'  then  lay  there,  lookin'  with  her  big, 
burnin'  eyes." 

Sairy  rose,  went  into  the  kitchen,  and  returned  with  a  pan  of 
apples  which  she  began  to  pare.  The  sun  was  over  the  shoulder  of 
Thunder  Run  Mountain  and  in  its  heat  and  light  the  flowers  in  the 
garden  smelled  strongly,  the  mountain-head  lay  in  a  shimmering 
haze,  and  a  pool  of  gold  touched  Christianna's  shoe.  It  was  late  in 
May,  the  Wilderness  and  Spottsylvania  over  —  Cold  Harbour  not 
yet  —  in  Georgia  the  armies  lying  about  New  Hope  Church. 

"Mother  came  up  the  mountain  yesterday,"  said  Christianna. 

"  I  hope  she  'swell?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,  she's  real  well.  Mother's  awful  strong.  It's  one 
of  the  hospital's  half-empty  times,  so  she's  come  home  for  a  week. 
She 's  cuttin'  wood  this  mahnin'.  It 's  mighty  good  to  have  her  home 
—  she's  so  cheerful." 

"That's  where  she  shows  her  strong  mind." 

"Yes,  ma'am.  She  says  that  when  summer  comes  you  don't  have 
smallpox,  and  when  winter  comes,  typhoid  eases  off.  Mrs.  Cleave 
says  the  soldiers  all  like  mother." 

"Allan,"  remarked  Sairy,  —  "Allan  always  said  Mrs.  Maydew 
was  an  extraordinary  woman.  Talkin'  of  Allan  — 

A  lean,  red-brown  hand  came  over  the  gate  to  the  latch.  The  yel 
low  cat  rose,  stretched  himself,  and  left  the  path.  The  hand  opened 
the  gate  and  Steve  Dagg,  entering,  limped  the  thirty  feet  between 
gate  and  porch. 

"  Mornin',  folks! "  he  said,  with  an  ingratiatory  grin. 

"Mornin'." 

Steve  sat  down  upon  the  step,  carefully  handling,  as  he  did  so, 
the  treasure  of  his  foot.  "  It 's  awful  hard  to  be  lamed  for  life !  But  if 
you  're  lamed  in  a  good  cause,  I  reckon  that 's  all  you  ought  to  ask !  " 

Sairy  eyed  him  with  disfavour.  "Land  sake,  Steve,  the  war  ain't 
goin'  to  last  that  long!" 

"  We  were  talking  about  New  Market,"  said  Tom.  "Since  Mon 
day  there  ain't  any  news  come  from  Richmond  way." 

"That's  so,"  said  Steve,  "but  I  reckon  we're  fightin'  hard  some- 


342  CEASE  FIRING 

where  'bout  the  Chickahominy.  Gawd  knows  we  fought  there  in  '62 
like  lions  of  the  field!  Did  I  ever  tell  you  about  Savage  Station,  V 
a  mountain  o'  dirt  'n'  stuff  the  Yanks  had  prevaricated  the  railroad 
with  —  'n'  how  we  cleared  it  away  —  me  'n'  an  artilleryman  of 
Kemper's  'n'  some  others  —  so  that  what  we  called  the  railroad  gun 
could  pass  — " 

"Yes,  you've  told  it,"  said  Tom,  "but  tell  it  again." 

"  'NJ  the  railroad  gun  —  that  was  a  siege-piece  on  a  flatcar,  Miss 
Christianna  —  come  a-hawkin'  'n'  a-steamin'  up  'n'  I  'n'  the  others 
piled  on.  Gawd!  it  was  sunset  'n'  the  woods  like  black  coal  ag'in' 
it  ...  'n'  we  came  on  the  railroad  bridge  'n'  the  Yanks  began  to 
shell  us."  Steve  shivered.  "  Them  shells  played  on  that  gun  like  the 
rain  on  Old  Gray  Rock  up  there;  'n'  jest  like  Old  Gray  Rock  we 
looked  at  'em  'n'  said,  'Play  away!'  —  'n'  we  rumbled  'n'  roared  off 
the  bridge,  'n'  got  into  position  on  top  of  an  embankment,  'n'  three 
batteries  begun  to  shell  us,  'n'  we  shelled  back;  'n'  those  of  us  who 
were  n't  at  the  guns,  we  took  off  our  hats  'n'  waved  'n'  hurrahed  — " 

"If  there  ain't  any  top  to  truth,"  said  Sairy,  sotto  wee,  "neither 
air  there  any  bottom  to  lyin'." 

"'N'  I  reckon  we  saved  the  day  for  General  Magruder!  The  ar 
tilleryman  was  a  cowardly  kind  of  fellow,  'n'  he  left  us  pretty  soon, 
but  the  rest  of  us  —  Gawd!  we  'n'  that  railroad  gun  did  the  business! 
Naw,"  said  Steve  mournfully,  "they  may  think  they're  fightin' 
hard  down  'roun'  Richmond,  but  it  ain't  like  it  used  to  be!  We  ain't 
never  goin'  to  see  fightin'  ag'in  like  what  we  fought  in  '62.  The  best 
men  in  this  here  war  air  dead  or  disabled.  —  Of  course,  of  course, 
Mrs.  Cole,  thar  air  exceptions!" 

"A  man  from  Lynchburg  passed  this  way  yesterday,"  said  Sairy. 
"He  was  tellin'  us  that  Crook  and  Averell  air  certainly  goin'  to  join 
Hunter  at  Staunton  an'  that  Lynchburg 's  right  uneasy.  He  said 
there  was  a  feelin'  in  the  air  that  this  end  of  the  Valley  was  n't  going 
to  be  spared  much  longer.  He  said  that  General  Smith  at  Lexington 
told  him  that  the  storm  was  comin'  this  way,  and  in  that  case  Thun 
der  Run  might  hear  some  thunder  that  was  n't  of  the  Lord's  manu 
facturing!  Of  course,  if  we  do,"  said  Sairy,  "we'll  have  the  benefit 
of  your  experience  an'  advice  an'  aid." 

Christianna  spoke  in  her  drawling  voice.  "Mother  says  there's 
talk  of  maybe  havin'  to  move  the  hospital.  She  says  they  all  say 


THUNDER  RUN  343 

Hunter's  one  of  the  worst.  He's  one  of  the  burnin'  kind,  an'  he's 
got  a  lot  of  men  who  can't  understand  what  you  say  to  'em  —  Ger 
mans." 

"I  think  we  ought  to  be  organizing  a  Home  Guard,"  said  Tom. 
"There's  your  grandpap,  Christianna,  and  the  doctor  and  Charley 
Key  and  the  boy  at  the  sawmill  — " 

"An'  Steve,"  said  Sairy. 

Steve  squirmed  upon  the  step.  "I've  seen  a  lot  of  Home  Guards," 
he  said  gloomily,  "  'n'  they  don't  do  a  danged  bit  of  good!  They're 
jest  ridden  over!  Gawdl  Thunder  Run  ain't  got  a  reception  of  what 
war  is!  General  Lee  oughtter  send  a  corps  - 

"Maybe  he  will,"  said  Tom  hopefully.  "Maybe  he'll  send  the 
Second  Corps!" 

"  The  Second  Corps ! "  Steve  grew  pale.  "  He  can't  send  the  Second 
Corps  —  it  was  all  cut  to  pieces  at  Spottsylvania  Court-House  - 
Johnson's  division  was,  anyhow!  The  Second  Corps  ain't  —  ain't 
the  fightin'  corps  oncet  it  was.  He'd  better  send  the  First  or  the 
Third.  .  .  .  Ouch!  Do  you  mind  ef  I  just  loosen  my  shoe  for  a  bit, 
Mrs.  Cole  ?  My  foot's  awful  bad  this  mornin'." 

"You'd  better  telegraph  him  about  the  corps,"  said  Sairy,  "right 
away.  Otherwise  he  might  think  't  was  good  enough  for  us  —  Valley 
men  an'  all,  an'  some  of  them  even  livin'  on  Thunder  Run.  I  could 
ha'  guessed  without  bein'  told  that  your  foot  was  bad  this  mornin'." 

Steve  blinked.  "I  don't  want  you  to  think,  Mrs.  Cole,  that  Steve 
Dagg  would  n't  be  glad  to  see  the  division  'n'  the  brigade  'n'  the 
Sixty-fifth  —  what's  left  of  them.  I'd  be  glad  enough  to  cry.  It's 
funny  how  fond  soldiers  get  of  each  other  —  marchin'  'n'  sufferin' 
'n'  fightin'  together  'n'  helpin'  each  other  out  of  Devil's  Holes  'n' 
Bloody  Angles  'n'  Lanes  'n'  such.  No,  'm,  't  is  n't  that.  I'd  be  jest 
as  glad  to  see  the  boys  as  I  could  be.  I  was  jest  a-thinkin'  of  the  good 
of  us  all,  'n'  them  Marse  Robert  could  spare  'n'  them  he  could  n't." 
He  rose,  holding  by  the  sapling  that  made  the  porch  pillar.  "I 
reckon  I'll  be  creepin'  along.  Old  Mirny  at  the  sawmill's  makin' 
me  a  yarb  liniment." 

He  went.  Tom  took  for  the  twentieth  time  the  newspaper  from 
beneath  the  toll-box.  Christianna  sat  absently  regarding  the  great, 
sun-washed  panorama  commanded  by  Thunder  Run  Mountain. 
The  yellow  cat  came  back  to  the  path. 


344  CEASE  FIRING 

Sairy  sighed.  "It  was  always  a  puzzle  to  me  what  the  next  world 
does  with  some  of  the  critturs  it  gets! " 

"It  don  't  seem  noways  anxious  to  get  Steve,"  said  Tom,  and 
began  to  read  again  about  Spottsylvania. 

An  hour  later  Christianna  in  her  blue  sunbonnet  went  up  the  moun 
tain  road  toward  the  May  dew  cabin.  Rhododendron  was  in  bloom; 
pine  and  hickory  and  walnut  and  birch  made  a  massive  shadow 
through  whose  rifts  the  sun  cast  bright  sequins.  Thunder  Run,  near 
at  hand  now,  was  uttering  watery  violences.  The  road,  narrow 
and  bad  for  wheels,  was  pleasant  under  the  foot  of  a  light  walker, 
untrammelled,  elastic,  moving  with  delicate  vigour.  Christianna 
loosened  her  sunbonnet,  and  the  summer  wind  breathed  upon  her 
forehead  and  ruffled  her  hair.  She  was  dreaming  of  city  streets  and 
houses,  of  Richmond,  and  the  going  to  and  fro  of  the  people  there. 
Old  Grey  Rock  rose  before  her  to  the  right  of  the  road.  As  she  came 
abreast  it,  Steve  Dagg  rose  from  behind  one  of  its  ferny  ledges. 

He  grinned  at  her  violent  start.  "Laid  an  avalanche  for  you, 
did  n't  I?  You  ain't  really  frightened?  Did  you  think  it  was  a  bear?  " 

"No!  I  thought  it  was  a  snake  an'  a  cat-o-mount  an'  a  —  a 
monkey! "  said  Christianna,  with  spirit.  "Friendly  an'  polite  people 
don't  do  things  like  that!" 

Steve's  whine  came  into  his  voice.  "Why  don't  you  like  me,  Miss 
Christianna  ?  I  don't  see  why  — " 

"If  you  don't  see  that,  you  won't  never  see  anything!"  said 
Christianna.  "An'  I'd  like  to  walk  home  in  peace  an'  quietness,  Mr. 
Dagg!" 

Steve  kept  beside  her.  "  I  got  a  good  cabin  —  thar  ain't  any  better 
on  the  mountain !  I  got "  —  his  voice  sank  —  "I  got  a  little  money, 
too,  'n'  it  ain't  Confederate  money  that's  worth  jest  about  as  much 
as  so' many  jimson  leaves!  //  }s  gold.  I've  got  it  hid."  He  glanced 
about  him.  "I  didn't  mean  to  tell  that.  You  won't  mention  it, 
Miss  Christianna  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Christianna;  "it  ain't  worth  mentionin'." 

Steve  touched  her  sleeve  with  persuasive  fingers.  "I  never  loved 
a  lady  like  I  love  you.  Gawd!  we'd  be  jest  as  happy  — " 

Christianna  walked  faster.  Ahead,  in  the  light  and  shadow,  a  wild 
turkey  crossed  the  road.  Pine  and  hemlock  showed  dark  and  thick 
against  the  intense  mid-day  sky.  Thunder  Run,  now  much  below 


THUNDER  RUN  345 

the  road,  spoke  with  a  lessened  voice.  Butterflies  fluttered  above 
wild  honeysuckle  in  bloom,  and  high  in  the  blue  a  hawk  was  sailing. 
Steve,  keeping  beside  her,  tried  to  put  his  arm  around  her  waist. 
She  broke  from  him  and  ran  up  the  road.  Long-legged  and  light  of 
weight  he  ran  after  her,  caught  up  with  her,  and  began  afresh  to 
press  his  suit. 

"Why  don't  you  like  me,  Miss  Christianna  ?  Lots  of  women  in 
the  Valley  V  down  about  Richmond  have !  There  was  one  up  near 
Winchester  that  was  so  fond  of  me  I  could  n't  hardly  git  away.  — 
There  ain't  no  reason  that  I  kin  see  —  I'd  be  jest  as  good  to  you  as 
any  man  on  this  mountain.  Most  of  the  men  have  died  off  it,  any 
way,  'n1  I'm  here!  Why  don't  you  try  to  like  me?  Ain't  Daggs 
as  good  as  Maydews  ?  'N'  as  for  Allan  Gold,  if  you  're  thinkin'  of 
him—" 

Christianna  turned.  "From  now  right  on  I'm  goin'  to  bear  wit 
ness  that  there  is  n't  a  crittur  on  Thunder  Run  that  uses  its  feet 
any  better  or  faster  than  Steve  Dagg  can!  You  can  walk  an'  you 
can  run,  an'  when  the  army  comes  this-a-way  I'm  goin'  to  bear 
witness  that  you  can  march!  I 'm  goin'  to  stand  up  just  the  same  as 
in  an  experience  meetin'  an'  bear  witness!  An'  if  the  army  takes  you 
away  with  it  — " 

Steve  gasped.  "It  can't!  I  got  a  doctor's  certificate.  —  It  ain't 
any  way  from  Grey  Rock,  'n'  love  made  me  run.  It  was  jest  a 
moment  'n'  I  '11  pay  for  it  to-morrow.  I  could  n't  march  on  that  foot 
if  Glory  itself  was  there,  hollerin'  me  on !  —  Who  'd  believe  you, 
either  ?  A  woman's  word  ain't  countin'  much.  Besides,"  -  -  he 
grinned,  confidence  returning,  —  "besides,  you  wouldn't  tell  the 
regiment  I'd  run  after  you  'n'  -  -  'n'  kissed  you  —  ''  His  arm  darted 
around  her  again.  Christianna  smote  him  on  the  cheek,  broke  away, 
and  fled  up  the  mountain. 

Around  a  turn  of  the  road  appeared,  pacing  stately,  Mrs.  May- 
dew.  She  was  tall  and  strong,  and  she  carried  an  axe  in  the  hollow 
of  her  arm. 

Christianna  stopped  short  with  a  sound  between  a  sob  and  a 
laugh.  She  looked  back.  "Are  n't  you  comin' on  to  the  cabin,  Mr. 
Dagg?" 

"Naw,"  said  Steve,  "not  to-day,"  and,  turning,  went,  elaborately 
limping,  down  the  mountain. 


346  CEASE  FIRING 

Some  days  later,  being  at  the  unworked  sawmill  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountain,  he  heard  news.  Crook  and  Averell  had  made  a  junction 
with  Hunter  at  Staunton.  Hunter  had  now  an  army  of  eighteen 
thousand  men.  Hunter  was  marching  up  the  Valley,  burning  and 
destroying  as  he  came.  Hunter  certainly  meant  to  strike  Lexington. 
Hunter  — 

"Reckon  we'd  better  rest  right  quiet  here,  don't  you?"  asked 
Steve.  "Even  if  they  came  into  the  county,  they  wouldn't  be 
likely  to  take  a  road  this-a-way  ?  " 

"I  would  n't  put  it  beyond  them,"  said  the  sawmill  man  darkly. 
"There's  a  lot  of  valuable  property  on  this  mountain." 

Steve  grew  profoundly  restless.  Each  day  now  for  a  long  time 
there  was  news.  Breckinridge  was  at  Rockfish  Gap  barring  with  a 
handful  of  troops  Hunter's  direct  road  to  Lynchburg.  Hunter  there 
upon  came  on  up  the  Valley  with  the  intent  to  cross  the  Blue  Ridge 
and  pounce  on  Lynchburg  from  the  west.  He  was  a  destroyer  was 
Hunter  and  a  well-hated  one.  The  country  was  filled  with  sparks 
from  his  torches  and  with  an  indignant  cry  against  his  mode  of  war 
fare.  Breckinridge  marched  to  Lynchburg,  but  he  detached  Mc- 
Causland  with  orders  to  do  the  best  he  could  to  harry  and  retard  the 
blue  advancing  host.  Down  upon  the  Chickahominy,  Lee  was  about 
to  send  Early,  but  days  of  fighting  and  burning  must  elapse  before 
Early  could  reach  Lynchburg.  On  the  twelfth  of  June  Hunter  came 
to  Lexington. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 
HUNTER'S  RAID 

VIRGINIA  Military  Institute  cadets  were  younger  than  they 
used  to  be.  To  suit  the  times  the  age  of  admittance  had 
been  dropped.  Even  so,  steadily  from  the  beginning  there 
was  a  road  of  travel  from  the  V.  M.  I.  to  the  battle-fields.  Out  upon 
it  went  many  a  cadet  in  his  trig  white  and  grey,  never  to  return. 
In  May,  1864,  the  entire  two  hundred  and  fifty  had  travelled 
it,  travelled  down  the  Valley  to  New  Market  to  help  Breckinridge- 
fight  and  win  that  battle.  In  dead  and  wounded,  V.  M.  I.  lost  sixty 
boys.  Now  after  a  time  of  wild  and  blissful  excitement  the  lessened 
corps  was  back  in  Lexington,  back  at  the  V.  M.  I.,  back  to  the  old 
barracks,  the  old  parade  ground,  the  old  studying.  To  the  cadets  it 
seemed  hard  lines. 

Hunter  and  his  eighteen  thousand  came  up  the  pike  from  Staun- 
ton,  thirty-five  miles  away.  McCausland  and  a  cavalry  brigade, 
drawn  across  his  front  at  Midway,  did  all  that  could  be  done  in  the 
way  of  skirmishes  for  delay.  Breckinridge  was  guarding  Lynch- 
burg,  an  important  centre  of  communications,  a  place  of  military 
stores  and  hospitals,  and  filled  with  refugees.  Early  and  the  Second 
Corps  were  yet  in  Tidewater  Virginia.  There  was  no  help  anywhere. 
V.  M.  I.  received  orders  to  withdraw  from  Lexington. 

McCausland  had  the  bridge  across  North  River  lined  with  hay, 
saturated  with  turpentine.  An  alley  through  was  left  for  his  men 
when,  at  the  last,  they  must  fall  back  before  the  blue  advance.  The 
night  of  the  eleventh  passed,  the  people  of  Lexington  sleeping  little, 
the  cadets  under  arms  all  night.  Dawn  came  up  in  rose  and  silver. 
House  Mountain  had  a  roof  of  mist;  all  the  lovely  Rockbridge  coun 
try  was  as  fresh  and  sweet  as  any  Eden.  Out  the  Staunton  road 
came  a  burst  of  firing;  then  with  a  clattering  of  hoofs,  with  shouts, 
with  turning  in  saddles  and  emptying  of  pistols  and  carbines,  Mc 
Causland  and  his  troopers  appeared,  pressed  back  upon  the  bridge. 
They  crossed,  horsemen  and  a  section  of  artillery,  then  struck  a 


348  CEASE   FIRING 

torch  into  the  turpentine-soaked  hay.  Up  roared  a  pillar  of  flame, 
reddening  the  water.  With  a  great  burst  of  noise  Hunter's  van 
guard  appeared.  They  galloped  up  and  down  the  north  bank  of  the 
river  shouting  and  firing.  McCausland  answered  from  the  hills 
across.  The  bridge  burned  with  a  roaring  noise  and  a  great  cloud  of 
smoke.  A  Federal  battery  coming  up  got  into  position  on  a  great 
rise  of  ground  commanding  the  town,  and  from  it  began  to  shell  the 
most  apparent  mass  of  buildings.  This  was  the  Virginia  Military 
Institute. 

The  grey  and  white  cadets  were  drawn  up  on  the  parade  ground. 
They  stood  there  with  their  colours,  with  their  tense  young  faces. 
The  first  shell  struck  the  hall  of  the  Society  of  Cadets,  struck  and 
exploded,  working  ruin.  After  this  there  began  a  bombardment  of 
the  corner  towers,  and  a  heavy  rain  upon  the  parade  ground. 

"Attention!  Right  face/  Forward!  March!" 

Drum  and  fife  played  "Dixie."  Away  from  the  old  V.  M.  I., 
coming  down  in  ruin  about  them,  marched  the  cadets.  They 
marched  to  a  fierce  bright  music,  but  their  faces  were  flushed  and 
quivering.  It  needed  all  their  boy  pride  to  keep  the  tears  away. 
Lexington,  anxious-hearted,  saw  them  go.  Behind  them  the  bat 
teries  were  thundering,  and  Hunter's  thousands  were  gathering  like 
locusts.  Colonel  Shipp  and  the  cadets  took  the  Balcony  Falls  road 
—  Balcony  Falls  first  and  then  Lynchburg,  and  active  service  some 
where  if  not  at  Lexington.  .  .  . 

They  came  to  a  high  hill,  several  miles  south  of  the  town.  "  Halt !  " 
and  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  halted,  and  resting  on  their  pieces 
looked  back.  The  Virginia  Military  Institute  was  on  fire.  Tower 
and  turret,  arsenal,  mess  hall,  barracks,  houses  of  the  professors,  all 
were  burning  down. 

Hunter  made  no  long  tarrying  in  Lexington.  He  waited  but  to 
burn  the  house  of  the  Governor  of  Virginia  and  swept  on  toward  the 
pass  in  the  Blue  Ridge  he  had  in  mind.  His  line  of  march  brought 
him  and  his  thousands  into  a  country  as  yet  uncharred  by  war. 

At  Three  Oaks  there  was  a  wounded  soldier  —  a  kinsman  of 
Margaret  Cleave's,  wounded  in  a  skirmish  in  southwest  Virginia 
and  brought  in  an  ambulance  by  his  servant  back  to  his  native 
county.  Here  he  found  his  own  home  closed;  his  mother  gone  to 


HUNTER'S   RAID  349 

Richmond  to  nurse  another  son,  his  sister  in  Lynchburg  with  her 
husband.  The  ambulance  took  him  on  to  Three  Oaks,  and  here  he 
had  been  for  some  days.  Exposure  and  travel  had  not  been  good 
for  him,  and  though  his  wound  was  healing,  he  lay  in  a  low  fever. 
He  lay  in  Richard's  room,  nursed  by  Margaret  and  an  old,  wrinkled, 
coloured  woman. 

Tullius  was  at  Three  Oaks.  Cleave  had  sent  him  back,  months 
before,  to  be  a  stay  to  the  place.  Now  Margaret,  coming  through 
the  hall,  found  him  on  the  back  porch,  standing  on  the  step  between 
the  pillars  like  a  grave  old  Rameses.  It  was  a  hot  June  day,  with 
clouds  that  promised  a  storm. 

"What  is  it,  Tullius  ?"  asked  Margaret.  She  took  an  old  cane- 
seat  chair  and  faced  him.  There  were  threads  of  grey  in  her  hair. 
The  old  man  noticed  them  this  morning. 

"Miss  Miriam  ain'  nowhere  'roun',  is  she?" 

"No.   She  is  out  with  her  book  under  the  oaks.  What  is  it?" 

"They've  flowed  over  Buchanan,  Miss  Margaret.  I  done  took 
the  horse  an'  went  down  as  far  as  Mount  Joy.  I  met  a  man  an'  he 
say  they  tried  to  cross  by  the  bridge,  but  General  McCausland 
done  burn  the  bridge.  Hit  did  n't  stop  'em.  They  marched  up  the 
river  to  the  ford  an'  crossed,  an'  come  hollerin'  an'  firm'  down  on 
the  town.  An'  a  house  by  the  mouth  of  the  bridge  caught  an'  a  heap 
of  houses  were  burnin',  he  say,  when  he  left.  An'  he  say  that  some 
of  the  Yankees  were  those  foreigners  that  can't  understand  a  word 
you  say,  an'  a  lot  of  them  were  drunk.  I  saw  the  smoke  an'  fire 
an'  heard  the  shoutin'.  An'  then  I  come  right  home." 

"Do  you  think  that  they  will  march  this  way?" 

"There  ain't  any  tellin',  Miss  Margaret.  They've  got  bands  out, 
'flictin'  the  country." 

Margaret  rested  her  forehead  upon  her  hands.  "  Captain  Yeard- 
ley  —  it  will  put  his  life  in  danger  to  move  him  .  .  .  and  then, 
move  him  where  ?  Where,  Tullius,  where  ?" 

"Miss  Margaret,  I  don'  know.  Less  'n  't  was  somewhere  in  the 
woods  or  up  on  the  mountain-side." 

Margaret  rose.  "Get  the  wagon,  then.  We'll  make  a  bed  for 
him,  and  do  all  we  can,  and  then  pray  to  God.  .  .  .  You  'd  better 
go  by  the  old  Thunder  Run  road  and  turn  off  up  one  of  the 


350  CEASE  FIRING 

"Miss  Margaret,  Jim's  got  a  good  head,  an'  he  kin  tek  the  Cap 
tain  away  an'  tek  care  of  him.  I'se  gwine  stay  at  Three  Oaks.  I'se 
gwine  stay  with  you  an'  Miss  Miriam." 

Miriam's  startled  voice  came  through  the  hall  from  the  front 
porch.  "Mother!  mother,  come  here!  Here's  a  boy  who  says  the 
Yankees  are  burning  Mount  Joy!" 

She  did  not  wait  for  her  mother,  but  came  down  the  hall,  at  hex 
heels  a  white-lipped,  wild-eyed  youngster  of  twelve.  News  came 
from  him  in  gulps,  like  water  from  a  bottle.  He  had  been  taking  his 
father's  horse  to  be  shod,  and  down  near  Mount  Joy  he  had  seen  the 
Yankees  coming  up  the  road  in  time  to  get  out  of  their  way.  He 
had  gone  through  a  gate  into  an  orchard  and  had  got  down  and  hid 
den  with  the  horse  below  a  bank  with  elder  growing  over  it.  From 
there  he  had  seen  how  the  Yankees  came  through  the  big  gate  and 
over  the  garden  and  to  the  house.  .  .  .  After  a  while,  when  it  was 
all  on  fire  and  there  was  a  lot  of  noise  and  he  could  n't  see  much  for 
the  smoke,  a  little  coloured  girl  had  come  creeping  through  the 
orchard  grass.  She  told  him  the  Yankees  said  they  were  going  to 
burn  every  house  in  the  country  they  could  get  at.  And  she  said  he 
had  a  horse,  and  why  did  n't  he  go  and  tell  people,  so's  they  could 
get  their  things  out  —  and  he  thought  he  'd  better,  and  so  he  had 
been  telling  them  — 

How  long  since  he  had  left  the  orchard  ? 

He  did  n't  know  —  he  thought  about  three  hours. 

Mahalah  came  running  in.  "O  my  Lawd,  Miss  Margaret!  O  my 
Lawd,  de  Yankees  comin'  up  de  big  road  lak  er  swarm  o'  bees!  O 
my  Lawd,  dey  kills  an'  eats  you!" 

"Nonsense,  Mahalah!  Be  quiet!  Tullius,  go  upstairs  to  the  east 
room  window  and  see  how  near  they  are." 

Tullius  returned.  "They've  got  a  mile  an'  a  half  yit,  Miss  Mar 
garet,  an'  they  ain't  marchin'  fast.  Just  kind  o'  strollin'." 

"How  many?" 

"Hundred  or  two." 

"  Get  the  wagon  as  quickly  as  you  can.  If  Jim  can  get  down  the 
farm  road  to  the  woods  without  their  seeing  him,  the  rest  may  be 
done.  Tell  Jim  to  hurry.  Then  you  and  he  come  and  lift  Captain 
Yeardley." 

She  turned  and  went  upstairs  toward  Richard's  room.   Going, 


HUNTER'S   RAID  351 

she  spoke  over  her  shoulder  to  her  daughter.  "Miriam,  get  every 
body  together  and  make  them  take  it  quietly.  Tell  them  no  one 's 
going  to  harm  them!" 

"Everybody"  was  not  hard  to  get  together.  Counting  out  Tul- 
lius  and  Jim,  there  were  only  Aunt  Ailsey  and  Mahalah,  old  Peggy, 
Martha  and  young  Martha,  William  and  Mat  and  Rose's  Husband. 
They  were  already  out  of  cabin  and  kitchen  and  in  from  the 
home  fields.  Miriam  gathered  them  on  the  side  porch.  They  all 
adored  her  and  she  handled  them  with  genius.  Her  thin  cheeks  had 
in  each  a  splash  of  carmine,  her  eyes  were  unearthly  large,  dark  and 
liquid.  All  that  she  said  to  them  was  that  it  was  good  manners  to 
do  so  and  so  —  or  not  to  do  so  and  so  —  in  a  contingency  like  the 
present.  Ladies  and  gentlemen  keep  very  quiet  and  dignified  — 
and  we  are  ladies  and  gentlemen  —  and  that  is  all  there  is  about  it. 
"And  here  is  the  wagon,  and  now  we '11  see  Captain  Yeardley  off,  and 
wish  him  a  good  journey,  and  then  we  'II  forget  that  he  has  ever  been 
here.  That's  manners  that  every  one  of  us  must  show!" 

Tullius  and  Jim  brought  the  wounded  officer  downstairs  on  his 
mattress  and  laid  him  in  the  wagon.  Old  Patsy  followed  to  nurse 
him,  and  they  placed  beside  him,  too,  his  uniform  and  hat  and 
sword.  He  was  flushed  with  fever  and  light-headed. 

"This  is  no  way  to  do  it!"  he  insisted.  "Inconsiderate  brutes  to 
take  advantage !  —  Ladies,  too !  Must  stay  and  protect.  —  Lovely 
day  for  a  drive!  See  the  country  at  its  best!  —  New  fashion,  driv 
ing  lying  down !  driving  in  bed !  —  Time  for  new  fashions,  had  old 
fashions  long  enough!  —  Bring  the  ladies  home  something  pretty  — 
scarf  or  feather!  —  saw  a  man  once  show  the  white  feather  —  it 
was  n't  pretty.  —  Pretty,  pretty  - 

'Pretty  Polly  Watkins  — '" 

Jim  drove  him  away,  trying  to  sing.  It  was  not  far  to  where  the 
farm  road  dipped  into  a  heavy  woodland.  The  rumble  of  the  wagon 
died  from  the  air. 

Mother  and  daughter  turned  and  looked  at  each  other.  Margaret 
spoke.  "The  hair  trunk  with  Will's  things  in  it,  and  the  portraits 
and  silver  and  your  great-grandfather's  books  and  letters  —  we 
might  hide  them  in  the  hollow  behind  the  ice-house.  No  one  can 
see  it  for  the  honeysuckle." 


352  CEASE   FIRING 

"Very  well.  I'll  get  the  books  and  papers." 

Tullius  and  Mat  carried  out  the  small  hair  trunk  and  took  down 
the  two  or  three  oil  portraits  and  the  Saint  Memin.  Miriam,  with 
Peggy  to  help,  laid  a  sheet  on  the  floor  and  heaped  into  it  a  treasured 
shelf  of  English  poetry,  essay,  philosophy,  and  drama,  old  and  mel 
low  of  binding,  with  quaint  prints,  and  all  annotated  in  her  great 
grandfather's  clear,  firm  writing.  To  them  she  added  a  box  filled 
with  old  family,  Revolutionary,  and  Colonial  letters.  William  and 
Rose's  Husband  took  up  the  bundle,  Martha  and  young  Martha 
and  Mahalah  filled  their  aprons  with  the  silver.  All  hurried  through 
the  flower  garden,  between  the  sweet  william  and  canterbury  bell 
and  hermosa  roses,  to  the  mossy-roofed  ice-house  and  a  cavity, 
scooped  by  nature  in  the  bank  behind  and  veiled  by  a  mass  of  vines. 
Will  and  Miriam  had  always  used  it  when  they  played  Swiss  Family 
Robinson.  Now  they  leaned  the  portraits  against  its  damp  walls 
and  set  the  hair  trunk  and  the  silver  and  the  books  and  papers  on 
the  earth  that  glistened  where  snails  had  traversed  it.  The  honey 
suckle  did  not  hide  the  place  perfectly,  but  it  would  take  a  deliber 
ate  search  and  sharp  eyes  to  discover  it,  and  beggars  must  not  be 
choosers.  The  movements  of  all  had  been  swift;  they  were  back 
through  the  flower  garden  to  the  house  in  the  shortest  of  times.  As 
mother  and  daughter  reentered  the  hall  they  heard  through  the 
open  front  door  a  hum  of  voices  and  a  sound  of  oncoming  feet. 

"We  had  best  meet  them  here,"  said  Margaret. 

"I  am  going  upstairs  to  get  my  amethysts,"  said  Miriam.  "I 
am  going  to  put  them  around  my  neck,  inside  my  dress." 

Three  Oaks  was  burned.  Porch  and  pillars,  doors  and  windows, 
hall  and  chambers,  walls  and  chimneys  submitted,  since  they  could 
not  help  it,  to  a  shroud  of  fire,  and  crumbled  within  it.  The  family 
was  allowed  to  take  nothing  out.  Matters  that  they  prized  were 
taken  out,  indeed,  but  not  by  them  nor  for  them.  At  the  eleventh 
hour  soldiers,  searching  the  garden,  found  the  little  cavern  and  its 
contents.  The  silver  was  reserved,  but  the  hair  trunk,  the  portraits, 
books  and  papers  were  thrown  into  the  flames. 

Margaret  Cleave  and  her  daughter  and  the  coloured  people 
watched  destruction  from  the  knoll  beneath  the  three  oaks.  It  was 
home  that  was  burning  —  home  that  had  been  long  lived  in,  long 
loved.  The  outdoor  kitchen  and  the  cabins  also  caught  —  all  Three 


HUNTER'S   RAID  353 

Oaks  was  burning  down.  In  the  glare  moved  the  band  of  the  foe 
sent  out  to  do  the  work.  The  sun  had  set  and  the  night  was  at  hand 
—  at  hand  with  storm.  Already  the  lightnings  were  playing,  the 
thunder  pealing.  Three  soldiers  came  up  to  the  cluster  beneath  the 
oaks.  They  rolled  in  their  gait  like  sailors. 

"Look  here!  Rebel  women  ain't  got  any  need  of  watches  and 
rings!  If  you've  got  any  on,  hand  them  over!" 

"Miss  Margaret,"  demanded  Tullius,  "what '11 1  do  ?" 

Margaret  looked  at  him  with  her  beautiful,  friendly  eyes.  "No 
thing  in  the  world,  Tullius.  Stay  perfectly  still!"  —  She  explained 
to  the  soldiers.  "I  gave  my  watch  and  some  rings  that  I  had  to  the 
Confederacy  long  ago.  My  daughter  has  neither." 

"She's  got  a  chain  around  her  neck  this  minute.  If  you  don't 
want—" 

"Exactly.  Give  the  gentleman  the  necklace,  Miriam." 

Miriam  unclasped  and  gave  it.  The  three  looked  at  Mahalah's 
hoop  earrings,  but  at  that  moment  an  officer  came  up  and  they  per 
force  fell  back.  "The  men  are  —  er  —  exhilarated,  and  not  well  in 
hand,"  he  said.  "I  would  advise  you  ladies  to  leave  the  place." 

They  went,  Margaret  and  Miriam  leading,  Tullius  and  the  others 
pressing  behind  them.  Save  for  the  lightnings  it  was  dark  when 
they  passed  through  the  big  gate  out  upon  the  open  road.  Behind 
them  the  three  oaks  stood  up  like  giant  sea  fans  in  an  ocean  of  fire. 
A  moment  later  the  storm  broke  in  a  wild  clamour  of  wind  and  rain. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

BACK  HOME 

EIGHT  thousand  strong  the  Second  Corps,  Jubal  Early  at  its 
head,  left  the  region  of  the  Chickahominy  on  the  thirteenth 
of  June,  marched  eighty-odd  miles  in  four  days,  boarded  at 
Charlottesville  the  Orange  and  Alexandria  and  so  came  south  to 
Lynchburg.  Here,  Breckinridge  being  wounded,  D.  H.  Hill,  brought 
to  this  town  on  some  duty,  was  found  in  command.   He  had  earth 
works  and  a  motley  force  —  Breckinridge 's  handful,  cavalry  ready 
to  fight  dismounted,  home  guard,  hospital  convalescents,  V.  M.  I. 
cadets.    Noon  of  seventeenth  in  came  Early  with  Ramseur's  divi 
sion,  Gordon's  following. 

Hunter,  having  burned  and  harried  Rockbridge  and  a  corner  of 
Botetourt,  crossed  the  Blue  Ridge  and  swept  through  Bedford 
toward  Lynchburg,  Imboden  and  McCausland  skirmishing  with 
him  at  New  London,  and  again  and  heavily  at  the  Quaker  Meeting- 
House.  From  this  point,  cavalry  fell  back  to  Lynchburg,  where 
with  Breckinridge's  men  they  held  the  Forrest  road.  On  came  the 
eighteen  thousand  and  found  breastworks  across  their  path,  and 
Ramseur  and  Gordon  with  artillery.  Hunter  halted,  deployed, 
brought  up  artillery  and  thundered  for  an  hour,  then,  night  appear 
ing  in  the  east,  went  into  camp  over  against  the  grey  front.  The 
next  day  and  the  next  there  was  thunder  of  cannon  and  cavalry 
skirmishing,tbut  no  battle.  Suddenly,  on  the  night  of  the  nineteenth, 
Hunter  broke  camp,  and,  facing  about,  marched  away  to  the  west 
ward.  His  army  doubled  in  numbers  the  grey  force  in  his  front.  Why 
he  went  so  hastily  after  nothing  but  a  glancing  blow  or  two  the  grey 
could  not  tell  —  though  Gordon  states,  "If  I  were  asked  for  an 
opinion  as  to  this  utterly  causeless  fright  and  flight  I  should  be 
tempted  to  say  that  conscience  was  harrowing  General  Hunter, 
and  causing  him  to  see  an  avenger  wrapped  in  every  grey  jacket 
before  him."  Be  that  as  it  may,  Hunter  was  gone  at  midnight,  and 
the  grey  column  took  up  the  pursuit  at  dawn,  moving  by  the  Lib- 


BACK   HOME  355 

erty  turnpike.  Behind  the  Second  Corps  lay  the  giant  labour,  giant 
weariness  of  Wilderness  to  Cold  Harbour,  and  on  this  side  of  that 
the  forced  marching  from  Tidewater,  and  now,  rolling  on  in  a  dream 
of  weariness,  the  pursuit  after  Hunter,  sixty  miles  in  two  days  and 
a  half. 

It  was  a  weary  dream  and  yet  it  had  its  interest,  for  this  was  new 
country  to  the  Second  Corps,  thrown  this  way  for  the  first  time  in 
all  the  war.  It  knew  much  of  Virginia  so  exceedingly  well  —  and 
here  was  a  new  road  and  the  interests  of  a  new  road !  Here  and  there 
in  column  it  was  not  new  country,  it  was  to  soldiers  here  and 
there  land  of  old  time,  their  part  of  Virginia.  Some  had  had  fur 
loughs  and  had  come  back  to  it,  once  or  twice  or  thrice;  others  had 
missed  furloughs,  had  not  seen  these  mountains  and  waters  for  so 
long  a  time  that  now  they  looked  at  them  wistfully  as  we  look  with 
closed  eyes  at  the  landscapes  of  childhood.  The  thickness  of  a  life 
seemed  to  lie  between  them  and  the  countryside;  one  could  not 
reckon  all  that  had  happened  since  they  had  marched  from  these 
blue  mountains  and  these  sunny  fields  —  marched  to  end  in  one 
battle  the  trouble  between  North  and  South! 

Richard  Cleave  rode  at  the  head  of  the  Golden  Brigade.  There 
were  now  no  full  grey  brigades,  no  complete  grey  regiments.  All 
were  worn  to  a  wraith  of  their  former  seeming.  They  took  not  a 
half,  often  not  a  third,  of  the  space  of  road  they  once  had  covered. 
The  volume  of  sound  of  their  marching  was  diminished,  the  flags 
were  closer  together.  Had  the  dead  come  to  life,  taken  their  old 
places,  there  would  have  passed  on  the  Liberty  pike  a  very  great 
army.  But  scattered  like  thistledown  from  the  stem  lay  the  dead 
in  a  thousand  fields. 

The  living  Sixty-fifth  moved  with  jingle  and  clank  through  the 
heat  and  dust  and  glare.  It  had  men  and  officers  who  were  at  home 
in  this  landscape  seen  through  clefts  in  the  dust  cloud.  What  was 
left  of  the  old  Company  A  were  all  from  the  rolling  hills,  the  vales 
between,  the  high  blue  mountains  now  rising  before  the  column. 
Thunder  Run  men  pointed  out  the  Peaks  of  Otter;  there  ran  a  low 
talk  of  the  James,  of  North  Mountain  and  Purgatory,  of  Mill 
Creek  and  Back  Creek  and  Craig  Creek,  of  village  and  farm  and 
cabin,  smithy  and  mill.  Company  A  did  not  feel  tired,  it  was  glad 
when  the  halts  were  ended,  glad  to  hear  the  Column  forward! 


356  CEASE   FIRING 

Matthew  Coffin  had  been  home  twice  since  First  Manassas;  other 
men  of  the  region  had  been  home,  Thunder  Run  had  seen  a  furlough 
or  two,  but  many  of  the  living  of  Company  A  had  not  returned  in 
four  years'  time.  Allan  Gold  had  not  .been  back  nor  Dave  and  Billy 
Maydew. 

The  column  was  moving  rapidly.  Hunter  had  a  few  hours'  start, 
but  this  was  the  "  foot  cavalry"  that  was  pursuing  him.  The  road 
was  rough,  the  dust  blinding,  the  heat  exhausting,  but  on  pressed 
the  "  foot  cavalry."  "  Hot  I  Hot !  Hot !  "  said  the  rapid  feet,  so  many 
of  them  half-shoeless.  "  Heat  and  dust !  Heat  and  dust !  There  used 
to  be  springs  in  this  country,  —  springs  to  drink  and  creeks  to  wade 
in.  ...  Then  we  were  boys  —  long  ago  —  long  ago  — " 

Mouth  furred  with  dust,  throat  baked  with  dust  and  cracked 
with  thirst,  much  ground  to  cover  in  short  time,  the  column  for  the 
most  part  kept  its  lips  closed.  It  went  steadily,  rhythmically,  bent 
on  getting  its  business  done,  no  more  forever  aught  but  veterans, 
seasoned,  grey,  determined.  But  in  the  short  halts  granted  it  be 
tween  long  times  it  spoke.  It  lay  on  the  ground  beside  welcome 
waters  and  babbled  of  heaven  and  earth.  That  portion  of  the  Sixty- 
fifth  whose  shores  these  were  spoke  as  soldiers  immemorially  speak 
when  after  years  the  war  road  leads  past  home.  The  rests  were 
short.  Fall  in  I  Fall  in!  —  and  on  after  Hunter  swung  the  Second 
Corps. 

In  the  hot  June  dusk,  in  the  small  town  of  Liberty,  twenty-five 
miles  from  Lynchburg,  they  found  his  rear  guard.  Ramseur  charged 
and  drove  it  through  the  place  and  out  and  on  into  the  night.  There 
sprang  a  sudden  shriek  of  shells,  rear  guard  joining  main  body,  and 
the  batteries  opening  on  the  grey,  heard  coming  up  in  the  night. 
The  grey  line  halted;  grey  and  blue,  alike  exhausted  with  much  and 
sore  travel,  fell  upon  the  warm  earth  and  slept  as  they  had  been 
dead,  through  )the  short  summer  night.  Grey  was  in  column  as  the 
candles  of  heaven  were  going  out  —  on  before  them  they  heard  the 
blue  striking  the  flints  on  the  Liberty  and  Salem  turnpike. 

The  sun  came  up  hot  and  glorious.  Full  before  the  column  rose 
the  Blue  Ridge.  The  men,  moving  in  a  huge  dust  cloud,  talked  only 
between  times.  "Hunter's  a  swift  Hunter  or  he  wants  to  get  away 
mighty  bad!  'Burner'  Hunter!"  —  " I  could  get  right  hot  of  heart 
—  but  what 's  the  use  ?  "  — "  I  don't  bother  about  the  use.  You  Ve 


BACK   HOME  357 

got  to  have  a  heart  like  a  hot  coal  sometimes,  with  everything  blow 
ing  upon  it!"  —  "  That's  so!  Life's  right  tragic."  —  Press  forward, 
men!  —  "Peaks  of  Otter!  Boys  from  hereabouts  say  there's  an 
awful  fine  view  from  the  top."  —  "  Awful  fine  view  ?  Should  think 
there  was !  When  you  're  up  there  —  if  you  go  alone  —  you  feel  like 
you're  halfway  upstairs  to  God!  Don't  do  to  go  with  anybody  — 
they  make  a  fuss  and  enjoy  it."  —  "We're  going  straight  into  the 
mountains."  —  "Yes,  straight  into  the  mountains.  Thunder  Run 
Mountain's  over  there." 

The  road  was  now  a  climbing  road.  The  column  moved  upon  it 
like  a  gleaming  dragon  —  the  head  in  thick  woods  lifting  toward  the 
heights,  the  rear  far  back  in  the  rolling  green  land  just  north  of  Lib 
erty.  The  Golden  Brigade  was  near  the  head.  The  Sixty-fifth  felt 
the  world  climb  beneath  its  feet.  Allan  and  Billy  were  thinking  of 
Thunder  Run;  Matthew  Coffin  was  thinking  of  the  pale  blue  letter- 
paper  girl.  Allan's  vision  was  now  the  toll-gate  and  now  the  school- 
house,  and  now,  and  at  last  persistently,  the  road  up  Thunder  Run 
Mountain  and  Christianna  Maydew  walking  on  it.  Blended  with 
this  vision  of  the  road  was  a  vision  of  the  hospital  in  Richmond  after 
Gaines's  Mill.  He  lay  again  on  a  blanket  on  the  floor  in  a  corner  of 
the  ward,  thirsty  and  in  pain,  with  closed  eyes,  and  Christianna 
came  and  knelt  and  gave  him  water.  .  .  . 

The  road  climbed  steeply.  Above  ran  on  to  the  sky  long,  wooded, 
purple  slopes.  At  one  point  showed  a  break,  a  "gap."  "That's 
where  we  're  going !  That 's  Buford's  Gap ! "  On  and  on  and  up  and 
up  — Halt !  rang  out  from  the  head  of  the  column,  and  Halt  I  —  Halt  1 
—  Halt!  ran  from  segment  to  segment  of  the  mounting  length. 

Hunter,  a  week  before,  had  not  appeared  on  Thunder  Run  Moun 
tain.  No  torch  came  near  its  scattered  "valuable  property."  The 
few  men  left  upon  the  mountain  were  not  pressed  or  shot  or  marched 
away  to  Yankee  prisons.  Thunder  Run  Mountain  saw  burning 
buildings  in  the  valleys  below  and  heard  tales  of  devastation,  even 
heard  wind  of  a  rumour  that  Hunter's  line  of  march  lay  across  it,  in 
which  case  it  might  expect  to  be  burned  with  fire  and  sowed  with 
salt.  It  was  this  rumour  that  sent  Steve  Dagg  on  a  visit  to  a  long- 
forgotten  kinswoman  in  Bedford.  .  .  .  And  then  the  line  of  march 
had  proved  to  be  by  the  kinswoman's  house ! 

Steve  broke  from  a  band  of  Federals  speaking  German  and  some- 


358  CEASE  FIRING 

what  blindly  plunged  into  the  woods  toward  the  Peaks.  "Gawd!  I 
reckon  they  ain't  comin'  to  the  top  of  Apple  Orchard!" 

With  occasional  descents  to  a  hermit's  cabin  for  food  he  lay  out  on 
Apple  Orchard  until  he  had  seen  the  last  horseman  of  the  Federal 
column  disappear,  Lynchburg  direction.  It  was  warm  and  pleasant 
on  Apple  Orchard  and  the  hermit  was  congenial.  Steve  stayed  on 
to  recuperate.  And  then,  with  suddenness,  here  again  in  the  dis 
tance  appeared  the  head  of  the  Federal  column  —  coming  back ! 
Steve  felt  the  nightmare  redescending. 

The  hermit,  who  was  really  lame,  went  to  the  nearest  hamlet  and 
returned  with  news.  "We  got  army  at  Lynchburg  —  big  army. 
Hunter's  beaten  stiff  and  running  this  way !  He  '11  cross  at  Buford's 
again,  and  I  reckon  then  he  '11  keep  to  the  woods  and  go  west.  You  'd 
better  wait  right  here  — " 

"  Thank  you,  I  thought  I  would,"  said  Steve.  "  A  man  can  have  a 
fightin'  temper,  V  yet  back  off  from  a  locomotive  — " 

Hunter's  thousands  disappeared,  the  last  rear  guard  horseman  of 
them.  Steve  was  content.  And  then  of  a  suddenness,  there  burst  a 
quarrel  with  the  hermit.  He  had  a  gun  and  a  dog  and  Steve  found  it 
advisable  to  leave.  It  came  into  his  head,  "The  Yanks  ain't  goin' 
to  make  any  stop  this  side  of  Salem,  if  there!  'n'  if  the  Second  Corps 
comes  along,  it's  goin'  to  hurry  through.  If  it's  after  Hunter  it 
won't  have  no  time  to  come  gallivantin'  on  Thunder  Run!  Old 
Jack  would  ha'  rushed  it  through  like  greased  lightning,  'n'  I  reckon 
Old  Dick  or  Old  Jube,  or  whatever  darn  fool 's  riskin'  his  skin 
leadin',  '11  rush  it  through  too!  —  I'll  go  back  to  Thunder  Run." 

He  began  to  put  his  intention  into  execution,  moving  across  miles 
of  woodland  with  a  certain  caution,  since  there  might  just  possibly 
be  blue  stragglers.  He  found  none,  however,  and  came  in  good 
spirits  to  a  high  point  from  which  he  could  discern  distances  of  the 
Liberty  pike  running  southeast  to  Lynchburg.  Upon  it,  quite  far 
away,  was  a  moving  pillar  of  dust,  moving  toward  him.  Steve 
knew  what  it  was  well  enough.  "Second  Corps,"  he  grinned. 
"  Yaaihl  Yaaaihh!  Reckon  I'll  be  travelling  along!" 

So  sure  was  he  that  the  road  before  him  was  clear,  and  he  was  in 
such  good  spirits  from  the  consideration  that  the  "foot  cavalry" 
would  hurry  incontinently  after  Hunter,  that  he  quite  capered  along 
the  road  that  now  climbed  toward  Buford's  Gap.  It  was  afternoon, 


BACK   HOME  359 

warm,  with  a  golden  light.  And  then,  suddenly,  being  almost  in  the 
gap,  he  observed  something  which  gave  him  pause.  It  was  nothing 
more  or  less  than  trees  cut  away  from  a  rocky  height  overhanging 
the  gorge  through  which  passed  the  road,  and  some  metal  bores  pro 
jecting  from  the  ledges.  Steve's  breath  came  whistlingly.  "Gawd! 
Yankee  battery!"  In  a  moment  he  saw  another,  perched  on  a  fur 
ther  ledge  and  masked  by  pine  boughs.  Steve  panted.  "  Avalanche! 
Another  minute  V  they'd  ha'  seen  me." 

He  was  already  deep  in  the  woods  beside  the  road,  his  face  now 
turned  quite  away  from  his  projected  path.  Indeed,  when  he  came 
to  himself  he  found  that  he  was  moving  southward,  and  due,  if  he 
kept  on,  to  meet  that  dust  cloud  and  the  Second  Corps.  His  heart 
beating  violently,  he  drew  up  beneath  a  hemlock,  the  vast  brown 
trunk  and  a  mile  or  so  of  blue  air  between  him  and  the  cannon- 
fringed  crags.  Here  he  slid  down  upon  the  scented  earth  and  fell  to 
thinking,  his  hand  automatically  beating  to  death  with  a  small  stick 
a  broken-winged  moth  creeping  over  the  needles.  Steve  thought  at 
first  with  a  countenance  of  blankness,  and  then  with  a  strange, 
watery  smile.  His  eyes  lengthened  and  narrowed,  his  lips  widened. 
"I  got  an  idea,"  he  whispered.  "Make  'em  like  me." 

Sitting  there  he  rolled  up  his  trouser  leg,  removed  a  rotten  shoe 
and  ragged  sock,  then  took  a  knife  from  his  pocket  and  after  a  shiver 
of  apprehension  scraped  and  abraded  an  old,  small  wound  and  sore 
until  it  bled  afresh.  Out  of  his  pocket  he  took  a  roll  of  dirty  band 
age  kept  against  just  such  an  emergency  as  this.  Having  first  care 
fully  stained  it  with  blood,  he  rolled  it  around  foot  and  shin,  pinned 
it  with  a  rusty  pin,  donned  again  sock  and  shoe,  stood  up  and  gave 
three  minutes  to  the  practice  of  an  alternate  limp  and  shuffle.  This 
over  he  broke  and  trimmed  a  young  dogwood  for  a  staff,  and  with  it  in 
hand  he  went  southward  a  considerable  distance  through  the  woods, 
then  crossed  to  the  road.  Behind  him,  a  good  long  way  off,  showed 
the  gap  where  was  planted  the  "  avalanche."  Before  him  came  roll 
ing  the  road  from  Liberty.  The  dust  cloud  on  it  was  rapidly  grow 
ing  larger.  Steve,  leaning  heavily  on  his  stick,  limped  to  meet  it. 

Cavalry  ahead  took  his  news,  halted  and  sent  back  to  Jubal  Early. 
That  commander  spurred  forward.  "  'Avalanche? '  What  d'  ye  mean? 

Guns?  Where?  Up  there? !  All  right.  Two  can  play  at 

that  game  —  Battery  forward! " 


360  CEASE   FIRING 

Steve  conceived  himself  to  be  neglected.  Carefully  propped  by 
his  stick  and  a  roadside  boulder  he  hearkened  to  orders  and  marked 
manoevres  until  he  was  aweary.  He  had  saved  the  Second  Corps 
and  it  was  n't  noticing  him !  He  grew  palely  dogged.  "  They  got  ter 
notice  me.  Gawd !  I ' ve  seen  a  man  thanked  in  General  Orders  'n' 
promoted  right  up  for  less'n  I've  done!"  In  addition  to  a  sense  of 
his  dues  a  fascination  kept  him  where  he  was.  The  unwonted  feel 
ing  of  superiority  protected  him  from  fear;  no  army  would  too 
closely  question  its  saviour!  The  rag  about  his  foot,  as  he  assured 
himself  every  now  and  then  with  a  glance,  was  good  and  bloody.  So 
well  fixed  and  with  such  a  vantage-point,  [he  gave  way  to  a  desire 
just  to  see  how  the  boys  looked  after  so  long  a  time.  Vanguard  and 
artillery  had  gone  forward;  down  the  road  he  saw  coming  at  a  dou 
ble  an  infantry  brigade;  further  back  the  main  body  had  been  halted. 
He  gathered  from  a  comment  of  officers  passing  that  there  was  a 
conviction  that  it  was  only  Hunter's  rear  guard  before  them  in  the 
pass.  Cavalry  scouts  spurring  back,  clattering  down  dangerous 
paths  from  adjoining  crests,  justified  the  conviction.  The  Federal 
main  body  was  pressing  on  upon  the  Salem  road  while  the  rear 
guard  gained  time.  And  here  the  blue  rear  guard,  observing  from 
its  crags  that  the  ambuscade  had  been  discovered,  opened  fire.  The 
grey  guns  now  in  battery  on  a  knoll  of  hemlocks  answered.  The 
Blue  Ridge  echoed  the  thunders. 

It  was  near  sunset  and  the  brigade  coming  up  was  bathed  in  a 
slant  and  rich  light.  With  a  gasp  Steve  recognized  the  horse  and 
rider  at  its  head.  He  raised  and  bent  his  arm  and  hid  his  face,  only 
looking  forth  with  one  frightened  eye.  Cleave  and  Dundee  went  by 
without  recognizing  him,  without,  as  far  as  he  could  tell,  glancing 
his  way.  Steve  chose  again  to  feel  injury.  "  Gawd,  Colonel!  if  I  did 
try  to  get  even  with  you  once,  ain't  you  a  general  now,  'n'  ain't  I 
jest  saved  your  life  'n'  all  your  men?  —  'n'  you  go  by  without  lookin' 
at  me  any  more'n  if  I  was  dirt!  If  you'd  been  a  Christian  'n' 
stopped,  I  could  ha'  told  you  you  were  goin'  home  to  find  your 
house  burned  down  'n'  your  sister  dyin' !  I  jest  saved  your  life  'n' 
you  don't  know  it!  I  jest  saved  this  army  'n'  don't  any  one  know 
it.  ...  O  Gawd!  here's  the  Sixty-fifth!" 

Steve  could  not  stand  it.  " Howdy,  boys!"  he  said.  " Howdy, 
howdy! "  The  water  came  into  his  eyes.  He  saw  through  a  mist  the 


BACK   HOME  361 

colours  and  the  slanted  bayonets  and  the  ragged  hats  or  no  hats  and 
the  thin,  tanned  faces.  A  drop  gathered  and  rolled  down  his  cheek. 
There  was  a  momentary  halt  of  the  Sixty-fifth,  the  last  rank 
abreast  of  the  boulder  by  the  road.  Forward  I  and  the  regiment 
moved  on,  and  Steve  marched  with  it.  "  Yaas,  you  did  n't  know  it, 
but  I  jest  saved  you  boys  V  the  army!  I  was  comin'  along  the  road 

—  I  got  a  sore  foot  —  V  I  looked  up  V  seed  the  guns  — 

The  sun  went  down  and  the  night  came,  with  the  guns  yet  baying 
at  one  another,  and  the  well-posted  blue  yet  in  possession  of  the 
rocks  above  the  gorge.  But  in  the  middle  of  the  night  the  blue  with 
drew,  hurrying  away  upon  the  Salem  road.  McCausland,  pursuing, 
captured  prisoners  and  two  pieces  of  artillery.  But  the  great  length 
of  Hunter's  column,  wheeling  from  Salem  toward  Lewisburg,  plunged 
into  the  mountains  of  western  Virginia.  From  the  grey  admin 
istration's  point  of  view  it  was  better  there  than  elsewhere.  Early, 
under  orders  now  for  the  main  Valley,  rested  in  Botetourt  for  one 
day,  then  took  the  pike  for  Staunton. 

One  day!  Matthew  Coffin  spent  it  with  the  blue  letter-paper 
young  lady.  Allan  Gold  and  Billy  and  Dave  Maydew  covered  with 
long  strides  the  road  to  Thunder  Run.  Making  all  speed  up  and 
down,  they  might  have  the  middle  of  the  day  for  home-at-last. 
Richard  Cleave  rode  to  Fincastle  and  found  in  a  house  there  his 
mother  and  sister.  Miriam  was  sinking  fast.  She  knew  him,  but 
immediately  wandered  off  to  talk  of  books,  of  Hector  and  Achilles 
and  people  in  the  "  Morte  d'Arthure."  He  had  but  two  hours.  At 
the  end  he  knelt  and  kissed  his  sister's  brow,  then  came  out  into  the 
porch  with  his  mother  and  held  her  in  a  parting  embrace.  She  clung 
to  him  with  passion.  " Richard  —  Richard!  —  All  is  turned  to  iron 
and  clay  and  blood  and  tears!  Love  itself  is  turning  to  pure  pain  — 

Riding  back  to  his  troops  he  went  by  Three  Oaks.  There  was 
only  a  great  blackened  chimney  stack,  a  ragged  third  of  a  wall,  a 
charred  mass  behind.  He  checked  Dundee  and  stood  long  in  the 
ragged  gap  where  the  gate  had  been  and  looked,  then  went  on  by 
the  darkening  road  to  the  Golden  Brigade. 

Up  on  Thunder  Run,  throughout  the  morning,  there  was  great 
restlessness  at  the  toll-gate.  Tom  knew  they  could  n't  come  this  way 

—  yes,  he  knew  it.    Their  road  lay  along  other  mountains  —  he 
wished  that  he  had  the  toll-gate  at  Buford's.  Yes,  he  knew  they 


362  CEASE   FIRING 

would  n't  be  likely  to  stop  —  he  knew  that,  too.  He  did  n't  expect 
to  see  any  one.  He  could  have  borrowed  the  sawmill  wagon  and 
gone  down  the  mountain  and  over  to  the  Salem  road  and  seen  them 
pass  just  as  well.  —  No,  he  was  n't  too  weak.  He  was  n't  weak  at 
all  —  only  he  wanted  to  see  the  army  and  Allan.  He  had  n't  ever 
seen  the  army  and  now  he  did  n't  reckon  he  would  ever  see  it.  Yes, 
he  could  imagine  it  —  imagine  it  just  as  well  as  any  man  —  but  he 
did  n't  want  to  imagine  it,  he  wanted  to  see  it !  And  now  he  would  n't 
ever  see  it  —  never  see  it  and  never  see  Allan. 

"Sho!  you  will,"  said  Sairy.   "  You '11  certainly  see  Allan." 

But  Tom  did  not  believe  it,  and  he  wanted  intensely  to  see  the 
army.  "I  see  it  when  I  dream,  and  I  see  it  often  and  often  when 
I'm  sitting  here.  I  see  it  marching,  marching,  and  I  see  it  going  into 
battle,  and  I  see  it  bivouacking.  But  it  won't  look  at  me,  and  though 
sometimes  I  take  the  boys'  hands  there  ain't  any  touch  to  them,  and 
I  can  see  the  drums  beating,  but  they  don't  give  any  sound  — " 

Sairy  looked  away,  out  and  over  the  great  view  below  the  toll- 
gate.  "I  know,  Tom.  Sometimes  in  the  night-time  I  sit  up  an'  say, 
cThat  was  a  bugle  blowing.'  An'  I  listen,  but  I  can't  hear  it  then. 
—  But  the  Lord  tells  us  to  be  content,  an'  you  'd  better  let  him  see 
you're  tryin'  to  mind  him!  What  good '11  it  do  Allan  or  the  army  if 
I  have  to  set  up  with  you  to-night  an'  your  heart  gives  out?  You'd 
better  save  yourself  so's  to  see  him  when  he  does  come  home.  My 
land!  the  lot  of  things  he'll  have  to  tell,  settin'  on  the  porch  an'  the 
war  over,  an'  school  takin'  in  again  — " 

"Sairy,"  said  Tom  wistfully,  "sometimes  I  get  an  awful  fear  that 
we  ain't  going  to  beat  — " 

"Sho!"  said  Sairy.  "If  we  don't  beat  one  way  we  will  another) 
I  ain't  a-worryin'  about  that.  Nothing's  ever  teetotally  beaten,  not 
even  eggs  when  you  make  cake.  It 's  an  awful  safe  universe." 

"It  ain't  your  day,"  said  Tom,  "for  a  clean  apron,  but  you've 
got  one  on." 

"I  ain't  never  denied  that  there  was  a  Sunday  feel  in  the  air!  We 
may  n't  see  the  army  and  we  may  n't  see  Allan,  but  they're  only  a 
few  miles  from  us." 

"What 's  that  I  smell  ?  —  It's  gingerbread  baking!" 

"I  had  a  pint  of  molasses  saved  away  an'  a  little  sugar.  I  just 
thought  I  might  as  well  make  gingerbread.  If  Allan  came  he'd  like 


BACK    HOME  363 

it,  an3  if  he  did  n't  we  could  eat  it  talkin'  of  him  an'  sayin'  we  were 
keepin'  his  birthday." 

She  went  into  the  kitchen.  Tom  rested  his  forehead  on  the  knob 
of  his  cane.  His  lips  moved.  The  wind  rustled  the  leaves  of  the 
forest,  the  sun  shone.  Thunder  Run  sang,  the  bees  hummed  above 
the  old  blush  roses,  the  yellow  cat  came  up  the  path  and  rubbed 
against  Tom's  ankle.  The  smell  of  the  gingerbread  floated  out  hot 
and  strong,  a  redbird  in  a  gum  tree  broke  into  a  clear,  high  carolling. 

"O  Lord,  I'm  an  old  man,"  whispered  Tom.  "I  ain't  got  much 
fun  or  pleasure  before  me  — " 

Sairy,  coming  back  to  the  doorstep,  stood  a  moment,  then  struck 
her  hands  together.  "Allan 's  coming  up  the  road,  Tom!" 

An  hour  of  happiness  had  gone  by.  Then  said  Allan:  "I've  two 
hours  yet  and  the  last  part  of  it  I'm  going  to  spend  telling  about  the 
Wilderness  and  Spottsylvania  and  Cold  Harbour.  But  now  I  want 
to  go  up  the  mountain  and  say  'how  d'  ye  do'  to  the  Maydews." 

"Yes,  I  reckon  you'd  better,"  said  Tom.  "Only  don't  stay  too 
long.  They've  got  Billy  and  Dave." 

"Bring  Christianna  down  the  mountain  with  you,"  said  Sairy. 
"Billy  and  Dave  can  tell  her  good-bye  here  just  as  well  as  there." 

Up  on  the  mountain  Mrs.  May  dew  made  a  like  suggestion.  "Al 
lan,  I'd  like  to  talk  to  you,  but  I've  got  to  talk  to  Billy  an'  Dave. 
Violetta  and  Rosalinda  they  're  gettin'  somethin'  for  those  boys  to  eat, 
they  look  so  thin  an'  starved,  an'  grandpap  an'  the  dawgs  air  jest 
sittin'  gazin'  for  pure  gladness!  —  Christianna,  you  entertain  Allan." 

"I've  got  time,"  said  Allan,  "to  go  look  at  the  school-house. 
That 's  what  I'd  like  to  do." 

The  school-house  was  partly  fallen  down  and  the  marigolds  and 
larkspur  that  Allan  had  planted  were  all  one  with  the  tall  grass,  and 
a  storm  had  broken  off  a  great  bough  of  the  walnut  tree.  Allan  and 
Christianna  sat  on  the  doorstep,  and  listened  to  a  singing  that  was 
not  of  Thunder  Run. 

Allan  took  her  hand.  "  Christianna,  I  was  the  stupidest  teacher— 

That  night  the  Second  Corps  lay  by  the  James,  under  the  great 
shadow  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  but  at  dawn  it  took  the  road  for  Staunton 
and  thence  for  the  lower  Valley.  It  went  to  threaten  Washington 
and  to  clutch  with  Sheridan,  who  was  presently  sent  to  the  Valley 
with  orders  to  lay  it  waste  —  orders  which  he  obeyed  to  the  letter. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

THE    ROAD   TO   WASHINGTON 

STEVE  had  had  no  intention  whatever  of  rejoining  the  army. 
And  yet  here  he  was,  embodied  again  in  the  Sixty-fifth,  and 
moving,  ordinary  time,  on  Staunton!  How  it  had  happened 
he  could  hardly  have  related.  Weariness  of  life  on  Thunder  Run, 
where  of  late  he  had  begun  to  dislike  even  Christianna  Maydew,  — 
uncertainty  as  to  whether  the  Yankees  might  not  return  and  sweep 
it  clean,  in  which  case  his  skin  might  be  endangered,  —  a  kind  of 
craving  hunger  for  company  and  variety  and  small  adventure, 
coupled  with  memories  of  much  of  the  same,  —  a  certain  pale  home 
sickness,  after  all,  for  the  regiment,  —  a  conviction  that  battles 
were  some  distance  off,  probably  clear  to  the  other  end  of  the  Val 
ley,  and  that  straggling  before  such  an  event  was  only  a  matter  of 
watching  your  opportunity,  —  all  this  and  a  ragged  underweb  of 
emotionalism  brought  Steve  again  to  follow  the  drum.  It  is  doubt 
ful,  however,  if  anything  would  have  done  so  had  he  not  by  purest 
accident  encountered  his  sometime  colonel. 

Cleave,  riding  along  the  forming  brigade  in  the  first  light,  reached 
the  Sixty-fifth.  The  regiment  cheered  him.  He  lifted  his  hat  and 
came  on  down  the  line,  an  aide  behind  him.  Steve,  on  the  rim  of  a 
camp-fire  built  by  recruits  of  this  year  who  knew  not  the  Sixty- 
fifth  of  the  past,  tried  to  duck,  but  his  general  saw  him.  He  spoke 
to  the  aide.  "Tell  that  man  to  come  here." 

Steve  limped  forward  with  scared  eyes,  a  cold  dew  upon  hands 
and  forehead.  And  after  all,  all  that  the  general  said  was,  "You  are 
nettle  and  dock  and  burr  by  nature  and  anger  has  no  meaning  in 
dealing  with  you!  Are  you  coming  again  with  the  Sixty-fifth?" 

"Gawd,  General!  not  if  you  think  I'd  better  not,  sir,—" 

"I?"  said  Cleave,  "I  will  speak  to  your  colonel  about  you.  For 
the  rest  you  can  fire  a  musket."  He  smiled  grimly.  "  Still  that  sore 
foot  ?  Has  it  been  sore  all  this  time  ?" 

"General,  it's  been  sorer!—  V  if  you'd  tell  the  men  that  they 


THE  ROAD   TO   WASHINGTON        365 

shan't  act  some  of  them  so  cold  'n'  some  of  them  so  hot  toward  me? — 
V  I  saved  the  life  of  them  all  only  day  before  yesterday,"  Steve 
whimpered,  "'n'  yours,  too,  General." 

"Thank  you,"   said   Cleave  with  gravity.  "Fall  in,  now  —  and 
remember  that  your  Captain's  eye  will  be  on  you." 
Fall  in  I  —  Fall  in !  —  Fall  in!  .  .  .  Column  forward  1 
Down  the  Valley  Pike  marched  the  Second  Corps.  Lexington  — 
Staunton  —  Harrisonburg  —  on  and  on  upon  the  old,  familiar  road. 
"Howdy,  Valley  Pike,"  said  the  Second  Corps.    "Howdy,  Old 
Lady!    Missed  us,  haven't  you?    We've  missed  you.    We've 
thought  of  you  —  thought  of  you  in  all  kinds  of  tight  places !  — 

"'Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot 
And  days  of  auld  lang  syne  — '" 

"Don't  seem  to  us  you're  looking  well  —  ragged  and  lonely  and 
burned  up  and  hewed  down  —  cheer  up! 

"  'We'll  take  a  cup  of  kindness  yet  — '" 

Miles  and  miles  and  miles  of  old-time  heat  and  dust  and  thirst ! 
Tramp,  tramp  !  —  Tramp,  tramp  !  Miles  and  miles.  "  There  never 
were  enough  springs  and  streams  on  this  road  and  old  Miss  War 's 
done  drunk  those  up!  —  O  Lord,  for  a  river  of  buttermilk!  — " 

The  dust  weighted  down  pokeberry  and  stickweed,  alder,  black 
berry  and  milkweed.  The  old  trim  walls  bounding  the  Valley  Pike 
were  now  mere  ruinous  heaps  of  stones.  The  thousands  of  marching 
feet,  the  wheels,  the  hoofs  furred  these  with  dust.  There  were  no 
wooden  fences  now  of  any  description;  there  were  few  wayside  trees, 
few  wayside  buildings.  There  were  holes  where  the  fence  posts  had 
been,  and  there  were  stumps  of  trees  and  there  were  blackened 
foundations  where  houses  had  been,  and  all  these  were  yellowed 
and  softened  with  dust.  A  long,  thick,  and  moving  wall,  the  dust 
accompanied  the  Second  Corps. 

The  Second  Corps  was  used  to  it,  used  to  it  in  its  eyes,  its  throat, 
down  its  neck,  in  its  shoes,  all  over.  The  Second  Corps  was  used  to 
poor  shoes  and  to  half  shoes  —  used  to  uniforms  whose  best  day  was 
somewhere  in  past  ages  —  used  to  hunger  —  used  to  thirst,  thirst, 
thirst  —  used  to  twenty  miles,  twenty  miles  in  heat  and  glare,  or  in 
mud  and  rain,  or  in  ice  or  snow  —  used  to  the  dust  cloud,  used  to 


366  CEASE  FIRING 

the  storm,  used  to  marching  and  marching,  used  to  battling,  used 
to  a  desperate  war  in  a  desperate  land,  used  to  singing,  used  to 
joking,  used  to  despairing,  used  to  hoping  —  used  to  dusty  marches! 
It  was  a  long  time  since  the  dusty  march  by  Ashby's  Gap  across  to 
First  Manassas.  New  Market,  Mount  Jackson,  Edenburg,  Wood 
stock,  Strasburg,  Middletown,  Kernstown  —  on  the  second  of  July 
they  came  to  Winchester.  Sigel  was  at  Martinsburg  beyond. 

Winchester  was  haggard,  grey,  and  war-worn.  How  many  times 
she  had  changed  hands,  passed  from  grey  lover  to  blue  master,  it 
would  be  hard  to  tell.  They  were  very  many.  Winchester  had  two 
faces,  a  proud  and  joyful  and  a  depressed  and  sorrowful  face.  To 
day  she  wore  the  first. 

On  through  Winchester,  out  upon  the  Pike  to  Martinsburg! 
There  was  skirmishing  and  Sigel  quit  the  place,  leaving  behind  him 
a  deal  of  stores.  That  night  he  retired  across  the  Potomac,  to  Mary 
land  Heights  by  Harper's  Ferry,  and  the  next  day  he  burned  the 
railroad  and  pontoon  bridges  at  that  place.  The  fifth  and  sixth  of 
July  the  Second  Corps  crossed  the  river  at  Shepherdstown,  crossed 
with  loud  singing. 

"Come!  Tis  the  red  dawn  of  the  day,- 
Maryland!" 

Steve  was  with  the  Sixty-fifth  still.  He  had  meant  to  leave  before 
they  got  to  Martinsburg,  but  the  occasion  did  not  arise  and  the 
Sixty-fifth  swept  him  on.  He  had  meant  to  hide  in  Martinsburg  and 
soberly  wait  until  the  Second  Corps  had  disappeared  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  Potomac,  when  he  would  emerge  and  turn  his  face  home 
ward.  But  in  Martinsburg  were  the  stores  that  Sigel  had  aban 
doned.  Coffee,  sugar,  canned  goods,  wheat  bread  —  Steve  supped 
with  the  regiment  on  the  fat  of  the  land.  But  it  was  his  intention 
not  to  be  present  at  roll-call  next  morning,  and  in  pursuance  of  it  he 
rolled,  in  the  dark  hour  before  dawn,  out  of  the  immediate  encamp 
ment  of  the  Sixty-fifth,  down  a  little  rocky  lane  and  under  the  high- 
built  porch  of  a  small  house  of  whitewashed  stone.  Here  he  lay  until 
the  first  light.  .  .  .  It  showed  through  the  lattice  of  his  hiding-place 
an  overturned  sutler's  wagon.  Steve,  creeping  out,  crept  across  and 
with  his  arms  that  were  lean  and  long,  felt  in  the  straw.  The  wagon 
had  been  looted  and  the  tears  nearly  came  to  his  eyes  on  finding  it 


THE  ROAD   TO   WASHINGTON        367 

so.  And  then  he  came  upon  a  bottle  fallen  from  a  case  that  had  been 
taken  away.  It  was  champagne. 

Reveille  sounding,  the  Sixty-fifth  rose  in  the  dim  light  and  while 
making  its  cursory  toilette  thought  of  breakfast  with  coffee  —  with 
coffee  —  with  coffee !  Mess-fires  burst  into  saffron  bloom,  the  good 
smell  of  the  coffee  and  of  the  sizzling  bacon  permeated  the  air,  the 
Sixty-fifth  came  most  cheerfully  to  breakfast.  It  sat  down  on  the 
dewy  earth  around  the  fires,  pleasant  at  this  hour  of  the  morning,  it 
lifted  its  tin  cups,  blew  upon  the  scalding  coffee,  sipped  and  sipped 
and  agreed  that  life  was  good.  Everybody  was  cheerful;  at  roll-call 
which  immediately  followed,  everybody  was  present,  in  a  full,  firm 
tone  of  voice.  Steve  Dagg,  filled  with  French  courage,  was  most 
present. 

French  courage  was  still  unevaporated  when  the  column  moved 
forward.  Then,  with  a  shock,  it  was  too  late  —  he  could  n't  get 
away  —  they  were  crossing  the  Potomac  — 

"I  hear  the  distant  thunder-hum, 

Maryland! 

The  Old  Line  bugle,  fife,  and  drum, 
Maryland! " 

"Gawd!  "thought  Steve.  "They  got  me  at  last!  I  can't  get  away  — 
I  can't  get  back  'cross  the  river!  Why 'd  I  drink  that  stuff  that  was 
like  cider  V  whistled  me  back  jest  as  easy?  Why  'd  I  leave  Thun 
der  Run  ?  They  got  me  in  a  trap  — " 

Maryland  Heights  was  strongly  fortified,  too  strongly  for  Breck- 
inridge  and  Gordon,  demonstrating  against  it,  to  drive  out  the  blue 
forces.  After  a  day  Early  swept  on  through  the  passes  of  South 
Mountain,  toward  Frederick,  east  and  south  of  which  town  runs  the 
Monocacy.  On  this  stream  there  formed  to  meet  the  grey  a  portion 
of  the  blue  Eighth  Army  Corps  and  Rickett's  division  of  the  Six 
teenth  Corps,  six  thousand  men  under  General  Lew  Wallace. 

There  were  earthworks  and  two  blockhouses  and  they  over- 
frowned  the  two  bridges  that  crossed  the  Monocacy.  Beyond  these 
and  on  either  side  the  blue  lines,  strongly  seen  in  the  clear,  hot  fore 
noon,  were  fields  with  board  fences  and  straw  stacks,  much  stout 
fencing  and  many  and  closely  ranged  straw  stacks.  Through  these 
fields  ran  the  clear  road  to  Washington,  blocked  now  at  the  river  by 
Wallace  and  his  men. 


368  CEASE   FIRING 

Jubal  Early  sent  McCausland  across,  who  dismounted  his  caval 
rymen  and  with  them  fell  so  furiously  on  the  enemy's  left  flank  that 
it  broke.  It  gathered  again  and  pushed  McCausland  back,  where 
upon  Early  sent  across  by  the  same  ford  Breckinridge  with  Gordon's 
division,  Ramseur  in  the  mean  time  skirmishing  on  the  western  bank 
with  the  blue's  advanced  front.  Gordon  attacked  with  his  usual 
gallantry,  King's  and  Nelson's  artillery  supporting.  The  blue  cen 
tre  broke  and  rolled  back  from  the  banks  of  Monocacy.  Ramseur 
and  Rodes  now  crossed  with  a  shout,  and  at  a  double  all  grey  troops 
swept  forward. 

Steve  crossed  Monocacy  because  he  must,  and  climbed  several 
fences  because  he  saw  that  if  he  did  n't  he  would  be  trampled.  But 
in  the  straw  field  he  fell,  groaning.  "Hit?"  asked  the  man  beside 
him  and  was  immediately  gone,  the  regiment  rushing  forward. 

Steve  drew  himself  well  behind  a  great  straw  stack,  splitting  the 
advance  like  a  spongy  Gibraltar.  Here  he  found  a  more  or  less  like- 
minded  private  from  one  of  the  Georgia  regiments.  This  one  had 
quite  deeply  burrowed,  and  Steve,  noting  the  completeness  of  his 
retirement,  tore  out  for  himself  a  like  cavern  in  the  straw.  Outside 
was  shouting  and  confusion  and  smoke ;  in  here  was  space  at  least  in 
which  to  have  a  vision  of  the  clear  security  of  Thunder  Run  Moun 
tain.  "You  wounded,  too?"  proffered  from  behind  a  straw  parti 
tion  his  fellow  retirer. 

"Yaas,"  answered  Steve.   "In  the  foot." 

"I  got  hurt  in  the  hip,"  said  the  other.  "It's  an  old  strain,  and 
sometimes,  when  we're  double-quicking,  I'm  liable  to  give  out.  The 
boys  all  know  about  it  and  make  allowance.  They  all  know  I  fight 
like  the  devil  up  to  that  point." 

"Same  here,"  said  Steve.  "I  fight  like  a  tiger,  but  now  V  then 
comes  along  a  time  when  a  man  's  under  a  moral  necessity  not  to. 
When  your  foot  gives  under  you  you  can't  go  on  charging  —  not 
if  Napoleon  Caesar  himself  was  there  shoutin'  about  duty!" 

"Them's  my  sentiments,"  said  the  other.  "We're  going  to  win 
this  battle.  I  see  it  the  way  we  looked  going  in.  How  do  you  feel 
about  going  on  to  Washington?" 

"I've  had  my  doubts,"  said  Steve.  "How  do  you  feel  ?" 

"It's  powerful  rich  and  full  of  things  to  eat  and  drink  and  wear. 
But  there 'd  be  awful  fighting  getting  in." 


THE  ROAD   TO   WASHINGTON        369 

"That's  the  way  I  feel,"  said  Steve.  "Awful  fightin'  V  I 
don't—" 

An  officer's  sword  invaded  their  dwelling-place.  "Get  out  of 
here !  What  are  you  doing  hiding  here?  Tie  you  in  this  rick  and  set 
fire  to  it,  you  damned  skulkers!  Get  out  and  march  ahead!"  The 
flat  of  the  sword  descended  vigorously. 

Steve  yelped  and  rubbed.  "  Gawd,  Captain!  don't  do  that!  I  got 
a  hurt  foot—" 

Much  later,  having  been  carried  on  —  the  whole  wagon  train  now 
crossing  —  in  a  commissary  wagon  travelling  light,  he  rejoined  his 
brigade  and  regiment.  He  found  the  Sixty-fifth  in  a  mood  of  jubila 
tion  bivouacked  in  the  dusk  Maryland  countryside,  with  a  glow  yet 
in  the  west  and  the  fireflies  tinselling  all  the  fields.  Steve  came  in  for 
supper,  and  between  slow  gulps  of  "real"  coffee  related  an  adven 
ture  in  the  straw  field,  marvellous  as  the  "Three  Turks'  Heads." 
His  mess  was  one  of  "left-overs,"  seven  or  eight  of  the  stupid,  the 
ne'er-do-weel  or  the  slightly  rascally  sort,  shaken  together  in  the 
regiment's  keen  sifting  of  human  nature.  Totally  incredulous,  save 
for  a  deficient  one  or  two,  the  mess  yet  found  a  place  for  Steve,  if  it 
were  only  the  place  of  a  torn  leaf  from  a  rather  sorry  jest-book.  The 
ne'er-do-weel  and  the  slightly  rascally,  most  of  whom  were  courage 
ous  enough,  began  to  describe  for  his  benefit  the  chevaux-de-frise  of 
forts  around  Washington.  They  made  Steve  shiver.  He  went  to 
bed  frightened,  and  arose  under  the  stars,  still  frightened. 

This  day,  the  tenth  of  July,  the  Second  Corps  marched  twenty 
miles.  The  day  was  one  of  the  hottest  of  a  hot  summer.  Not  the 
lightest  zephyr  lifted  a  leaf  or  dried  the  sweat  on  a  soldier's  brow. 
The  dust  of  the  Georgetown  Pike  rose  thick  and  stifling  until  it 
made  a  broad  and  deep  and  thick  and  stifling  cloud.  There  was 
little  water  to  be  had  throughout  the  day.  The  Second  Corps  suf 
fered  profoundly.  That  night  it  lay  in  the  fields  by  the  roadside 
near  Rockville.  The  night  was  smoking  hot,  and  the  men  lay  fever 
ishly,  moving  their  limbs  and  sighing,  troubled  with  dreams.  The 
bugles  sounded  under  a  copper  dawn  and  they  rose  to  an  eleventh 
of  July,  hot,  dust-clogged,  and  thirsty  as  had  been  the  tenth. 

There  were  sunstrokes  this  day,  exhaustion  from  heat,  a  trail  of 
involuntary  stragglers,  men  limping  in  the  rear,  men  sitting,  head 
on  knees,  beneath  the  powdered  wayside  growth,  men  lying  motion- 


370  CEASE  FIRING 

less  in  the  ditch  beside  the  road.  Horses  fell  and  died.  There  were 
many  delays.  But  through  all  heat,  great  weariness,  and  suffering, 
Early,  shrill-voiced  and  determined,  urged  the  troops  on  upon  the 
road  to  Washington.  The  troops  responded.  Something  less  than 
eight  thousand  muskets  moved  in  the  great  dust  of  the  pike,  forty 
guns,  and  ahead,  the  four  small  cavalry  brigades  of  McCausland, 
Imboden,  W.  L.  Jackson,  and  Bradley  Johnson.  "—  — !"  said 
Early.  "If  we  can't  take  it,  at  least  we  can  give  it  a  quaking  fit!  — 
increase  the  peace  clamour!  It 's  worth  while  to  see  if  we  can  get  to 

the  outer  fortifications  before  they  pour  their numbers  into 

them!" 

The  Second  Corps  marched  fast,  now  by  the  Silver  Spring  Road, 
Imboden's  cavalry  ahead,  Jackson's  on  the  flank,  full  before  them 
Fort  Stevens,  very  visible  in  the  distance,  Washington.  The  men 
moistened  their  lips,  talked,  for  all  the  dust  in  their  throats,  the 
blood  beating  in  their  temples,  and  the  roaring  in  their  ears.  "Take 
it !  Could  we  take  it  ?  "  —  "By  supernal  luck  —  a  chance  in  a  million 
—  if  they  were  all  asleep  or  dazed ! "  —  "  Take  it  and  end  the  war  — 
O  God,  if  we  could!"  — "Run  up  the  Stars  and  Bars  — Play 
*  Dixie'  everywhere  —  Live!  at  last  live  after  four  years  of  being 
born!"  —  "Take  Washington  —  eight  thousand  of  us  and  the  cav 
alry  and  the  twelve-pounder  Napoleons  — "  From  the  front  broke 
out  a  long  crackling  fire.  "Cavalry  in  touch  —  cavalry  in  touch." 
Rodes's  division,  leading,  came  into  line  of  battle.  As  it  did  so  rose 
in  the  south  between  Fort  Stevens  and  the  city  a  great  dust  cloud. 

" F'said  Early.    "There  isn't  apian  or  a  cannon  numbers 

won't  spike!  —  Skirmishers  to  the  front!" 

"Every  prominent  point,"  says  a  Federal  officer,  speaking  of  the 
Washington  fortifications,  —  "every  prominent  point,  at  intervals 
of  eight  hundred  to  one  thousand  yards,  was  occupied  by  an  enclosed 
field  fort;  every  important  approach  or  depression  of  ground,  un 
seen  from  the  forts,  was  swept  by  a  battery  for  field-guns;  and  the 
whole  connected  by  rifle  trenches  which  were  in  fact  lines  of  infantry 
parapets,  furnishing  emplacement  for  two  ranks  of  men,  and  afford 
ing  covered  communication  along  the  line,  while  roads  were  opened 
wherever  necessary,  so  that  troops  and  artillery  could  be  moved 
rapidly  from  one  point  of  the  immense  periphery  to  another,  or 
under  cover,  from  point  to  point  along  the  line.  The  counterscarps 


THE  ROAD   TO   WASHINGTON        371 

were  surrounded  by  abatis;  bomb-proofs  were  provided  in  nearly  all 
the  forts;  all  guns,  not  solely  intended  for  distant  fire,  placed  in  em 
brasures  and  well  traversed.  All  commanding  points  on  which  an 
enemy  would  be  likely  to  concentrate  artillery  .  .  .  were  subjected 
not  only  to  the  fire,  direct  and  across,  of  many  points  along  the  line, 
but  also  from  heavy  rifled  guns  from  points  unattainable  by  the 
enemy's  field-guns."  There  were  twenty  thousand  blue  troops,  gar 
rison  and  reserves,  and  in  addition,  at  two  o'clock  of  this  day,  began 
to  arrive  Ricketts's  and  Emory's  divisions  of  the  Sixth  and  Nine 
teenth  Corps,  sent  by  Grant. 

The  eleventh  and  the  twelfth  there  was  heavy  skirmishing.  Dur 
ing  these  days  the  Second  Corps  saw  that  it  could  not  take  Washing 
ton.  The  heat  continued;  now  through  quivering  air,  now  through 
great  dust  clouds  they  saw  the  dome  of  the  capitol.  It  was  near, 
near!  The  Second  Corps  was  closer  to  Washington  than  ever  in  this 
war  had  been  the  North  to  Richmond;  it  was  very  near,  but  there  is 
the  possible  and  there  is  the  impossible,  and  it  was  not  possible  for 
the  Second  Corps  to  make  entry.  On  the  night  of  the  twelfth  it 
withdrew  from  before  Washington  and  marching  to  the  Potomac 
crossed  by  White's  Ford  into  Loudoun  County.  Fifteen  thousand 
blue  troops  pursued,  but  the  grey  crossed  the  river  in  safety.  They 
crossed  singing  "Swanee  River."  It  was  the  last  sally  of  the  be 
leaguered  South  forth  upon  the  beleaguerer's  ground.  Henceforth, 
the  battle  thundered  against  the  very  inner  keep  of  the  fortress. 

Marching  through  great  dust  and  heat  and  glare  and  weariness 
back  through  Maryland  to  the  Potomac,  the  Second  Corps  gath 
ered  up  from  the  roadside  and  the  byways  and  the  hedges  its  strag 
glers,  involuntary  or  otherwise.  A  dozen  hours  from  Washington 
it  gathered  out  of  a  cornfield  Steve  Dagg. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

THE    CRATER 

A  Petersburg,  on  the  Appomattox,  twenty  miles  south  of 
Richmond,  June  went  by  in  thunder,  day  and  night,  of 
artillery  duels,  with,  for  undersong,  a  perpetual,  pattering 
rain  of  sharpshooters'  bullets,  torn  across,  at  intervals,  by  a  sharp 
and  long  sound  of  musketry.  In  the  hot  and  sickly  weather,  under 
the  hovering  smoke,  engineers  of  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia, 
engineers  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  worked  like  beavers.  The 
grey  line  drawn  by  Beauregard  early  in  the  month  was  strengthened 
and  pieced  out.  Over  against  it  curved  a  great  blue  sickle  of  forts, 
with  trenches  and  parapets  between.  Grey  and  blue  alike  had  in 
the  rear  of  their  manned  works  a  labyrinth  and  honeycomb  of 
approaches,  covered  ways,  pits,  magazines,  bomb-proofs,  traverses. 
The  blue  had  fearfully  the  advantage  in  artillery.  Grey  and  blue, 
the  lines,  in  part,  were  very  close,  so  close  that  there  would  be  little 
warning  of  assault.  The  Army  of  Northern  Virginia,  now,  in  num 
bers,  not  a  great  army,  had  to  watch,  day  and  night.  It  watched  with 
an  intensity  which  brought  a  further  depth  into  men's  eyes,  deep 
enough  now  in  all  conscience,  deep  enough  in  the  summer  of  1864! 
On  the  twenty-second,  Grant  attempted  to  extend  his  flank  upon 
the  left  toward  the  Weldon  Railroad.  Lee  sent  A.  P.  Hill  out  against 
this  movement.  Hill,  in  his  red  battle  shirt,  strong  fighter  and 
prompt,  swung  through  an  opening  left  unaware  between  the  two 
corps,  the  Second  and  Sixth,  and,  turning,  struck  the  Second  in  the 
rear.  After  the  fiercest  fighting  the  blue,  having  lost  four  guns  and 
several  stands  of  colours,  and  seventeen  hundred  prisoners,  drew 
back  within  their  lines. 

Grant  dispatched  two  divisions  of  cavalry  with  orders  to  tear 
up  the  Lynchburg  and  Danville  Railroad.  They  spread  ruin  south 
to  the  Staunton  River,  but  here  W.  H.  F.  Lee,  who  had  followed, 
attacked  them  at  Blacks  and  Whites.  Retiring  they  found  them 
selves  between  two  fires.  Wade  Hampton  and  Fitzhugh  Lee,  back 


THE   CRATER  373 

from  the  fight  at  Trevillian's  Station,  fell  upon  the  two  divisions  at 
Sapony  Church.  Infantry  of  Mahone's  came  up  also  and  aided. 
After  a  running  fight  of  a  day  and  night,  in  which  the  blue  lost,  in 
killed  and  wounded  and  taken,  fifteen  hundred  men,  twelve  guns, 
and  a  wagon  train,  they  escaped  over  the  Blackwater,  burning  the 
bridge  between  them  and  the  grey,  and  so  returned  to  Grant  at 
Petersburg. 

On  the  first  of  July,  General  Alexander,  Longstreet's  Chief  of 
Artillery,  wounded  and  furloughed  home,  was  driven,  before  quit 
ting  the  lines,  to  Violet  Bank,  where  were  Lee's  headquarters.  About 
the  place  were  small,  much  the  worse  for  wear,  Confederate  tents. 
The  commanding  general  himself  had  a  room  within  the  house.  The, 
wounded  officer  found  him  standing,  with  several  of  the  staff,  upon 
the  porch  steps.  He  had  his  field-glasses  open,  and  he  was  listening 
to  the  report  of  a  scout.  When  at  last  the  man  saluted  and  fell  back,, 
Alexander  stated  the  conviction  that  was  in  him.  He  felt  a  certainty 
that  the  enemy  was  engaged  in  driving  a  mine  under  the  point  known 
as  Elliott's  Salient. 

"Why  do  you  think  so,  General  ?  " 

"  Their  sharpshooters  keep  up  a  perpetual,  converging  fire,  sir,, 
upon  just  that  hand's-breadth  of  our  line.  On  the  other  hand,  they 
pay  so  little  attention  to  the  works  to  right  and  left  that  the  men 
can  show  themselves  with  impunity.  They  are  not  clearing  the 
ground  for  surface  approaches  —  well,  then,  I  think  that  they  are 
working  underground.  If  you  were  going  from  that  side  to  explode 
a  mine  and  assault  immediately  afterward,  that  would  be  the  place 
you  would  choose,  I  think." 

"That  is  true,"  said  Lee.  "  But  you  would  have  to  make  a  long 
tunnel  to  get  under  that  salient,  General." 

"About  five  hundred  feet,  sir." 

Mr.  Francis  Lawley,  of  the  London  Times,  was  of  the  group  upon 
the  steps.  "In  the  siege  of  Delhi,  sir,  we  drove  what  was,  I  believe, 
considered  the  longest  possible  gallery.  It  was  four  hundred  feet, 
Beyond  that  it  was  found  impossible  to  ventilate." 

"The  enemy,"  said  Alexander,  "have  a  number  of  Pennsylvania 
coal-miners,  who  may  be  trusted  to  find  some  means  to  ventilate. 
This  war  is  doing  a  power  of  things  that  were  not  done  at  Delhi." 

"I  will  act  on  your  warning,  General,"  said  Lee. 


374  CEASE  FIRING 

The  next  day  the  grey  began  to  drive  two  countermines.  Later  in 
the  month  they  started  two  others.  Pegram's  battery  occupied  the 
threatened  salient,  with  Elliott's  troops  in  the  rifle-pits.  The  grey 
miners  drove  as  far  and  fast  as  they  might,  but  they  tunnelled  out 
ward  from  either  flank  of  the  salient,  while  the  Pennsylvania  coal- 
miners,  twenty  feet  underground,  dug  straight  toward  the  apex. 
The  days  passed  —  many  days. 

On  the  eighteenth  was  received  the  news  of  the  removal  of  Joseph 
E.  Johnston  from  the  command  of  the  Army  of  Tennessee.  Wade 
Hampton,  being  at  headquarters,  heard  Lee's  expression  of  opinion 
and  wrote  it  to  General  Johnston.  .  .  .  "He  expressed  great  regret 
that  you  had  been  removed  and  said  that  he  had  done  all  in  his 
power  to  prevent  it.  He  had  said  to  Mr.  Seddon  that  if  you  could 
not  command  the  army  we  had  no  one  who  could."  Later  came  the 
tidings  of  Hood's  lost  battle  of  Atlanta  and  all  its  train  of  slow  dis 
aster.  On  the  twenty-fifth,  news  of  Jubal  Early's  victory  at  Win 
chester  the  day  before  was  cheered  to  the  echo.  In  the  last  days  of 
the  month  came  news  of  Stoneman  and  McCook's  raiding  in  Geor 
gia  and  of  the  scattered  fighting  in  Arkansas. 

North  and  South,  away  from  the  camps,  there  was  flagging  of 
spirit  and  sickness  of  soul.  In  the  North  the  war  was  costing  close 
upon  four  millions  of  dollars  a  day.  Gold  in  July  went  to  two  hun 
dred  and  eighty-five.  The  North  gained  now  its  fresh  soldiers  by 
bounties,  and  those  heavy.  All  the  northern  tier  of  states,  great 
as  they  were,  untouched  by  invasion,  and  the  ocean  theirs  —  all 
the  North  winced  and  staggered  now  under  the  burden  of  the  war. 
But  the  South  —  the  South  was  past  wincing.  Bent  to  her  knees, 
bowed  like  a  caryatid,  she  fought  on  in  her  fixed  position. 

At  Petersburg,  Grant  meant  to  explode  a  great  mine  and  to  fol 
low  it,  in  the  confusion,  by  a  great  and  determined  assault.  More 
over,  in  order  to  weaken  the  opposition  here  and  the  more  to  dis 
tract  and  appall,  he  detached  Hancock  with  twenty  thousand  men 
for  a  feint  against  Richmond.  Hancock  marched  to  Deep  Bottom, 
where  Butler,  having  ironclads  on  the  river  and  a  considerable  force 
encamped  on  the  northern  bank,  guarded  two  pontoon  bridges 
across  the  James.  Between  this  place  and  Richmond  was  Conner's 
grey  brigade  and  at  Drewry 's  Bluff,  Willcox's  division.  Moving  with 
Hancock  was  Sheridan  and  six  thousand  horse. 


THE   CRATER  375 

Lee,  watchful,  sent  Kershaw's  division  to  join  with  Willcox  and 
Conner  and  guard  Richmond.  Hancock  crossed  on  the  twenty- 
seventh,  and  that  morning  Kershaw  came  into  collision  with  Sheri 
dan,  losing  prisoners  and  two  colours.  Lee  further  detached  W.  H. 
F.  Lee's  cavalry  and  Heth's  infantry.  The  alarm  bell  rang  rapid 
and  loud  in  Richmond  and  all  the  home  defences  went  out  to  the 
lines.  But  Hancock,  checked  at  Deep  Bottom,  only  flourished  before 
Richmond;  on  the  twenty-ninth,  indeed,  drew  back  in  part  to  the 
Petersburg  lines,  in  order  to  take  part  in  the  great  and  general  as 
sault.  When  the  thirtieth  dawned,  with  Willcox,  Kershaw,  Heth, 
and  the  cavalry  away,  Lee  was  holding  lines,  ten  miles  from  tip  to 
tip,  with  not  more  than  twenty  thousand  men. 

It  was  a  boding,  still  night,  hot  [in  the  far-flung  wild  tangle  of 
trenches,  pits,  and  approaches,  hot  in  the  fields,  hot  in  Poor  Creek 
Valley  where  the  blue  were  massing,  hot  amongst  the  guns  of 
Elliott's  Salient.  The  stars  were  a  little  dimmed  by  dust  in  the  air 
and  the  yet  undissipated  smoke  from  the  artillery  firing  that  had 
ceased  at  dusk. 

In  the  blue  lines" there  was  between  generals  a  difference  of  opinion 
as  to  what  division  should  lead  in  the  now  imminent  assault.  Burn- 
side  advised  the  use  of  Ferrero's  coloured  division.  Meade  dissented, 
and  the  point  was  referred  to  Grant.  He  says:  "General  Burnside 
wanted  to  put  his  coloured  division  in  front,  and  I  believe  if  he  had 
done  so  it  would  have  been  a  success.  Still  I  agreed  with  General 
Meade  as  to  his  objections  to  that  plan.  General  Meade  said  that  if 
we  put  the  coloured  troops  in  front  (we  had  only  one  division)  and 
it  should  prove  a  failure,  it  would  then  be  said,  and  very  properly, 
that  we  were  shoving  these  people  ahead  to  get  killed  because  we 
did  not  care  anything  about  them.  But  that  could  not  be  said  if 
we  put  white  troops  in  front." 

This  settled  it,  and  Ledlie's  division  was  given  the  lead.  It  formed 
behind  earthworks  full  in  front  of  Elliott's  Salient,  in  its  rear  two 
supporting  divisions;  its  objective  Cemetery  Hill,  commanding  the 
town;  its  orders,  as  soon  as  the  mine  should  explode,  to  pass  over 
and  through  the  grey's  torn  line,  take  the  hill,  and  pass  into  Peters 
burg.  It  was  midnight  when  Ledlie's  line  was  formed,  the  support 
ing  divisions  drawn  up.  The  night  was  hot  and  exceedingly  close; 
the  men  stood  waiting,  feverish,  every  sense  alert.  One  o'clock  — 


376  CEASE   FIRING 

two  o'clock  —  three  o'clock.  Ledlie  moved  forward,  taking  position 
immediately  behind  the  breastworks.  Again  a  wait,  every  eye  upon 
where,  in  the  darkness,  should  be  Elliott's  Salient. 

On  the  grey  side  there  was  knowledge  that  a  mine  was  digging, 
but  ignorance  of  the  day  or  night  in  which  it  would  be  fired.  Lee 
slept,  or  waked,  at  Violet  Bank;  far  and  near  in  its  trenches  the 
Army  of  Northern  Virginia  lay,  well-picketed,  in  a  restless  sleep. 
The  nights  were  hot,  and  there  was  much  misery  and  frequent  night 
firing.  All  sleep  now  was  restless,  easily  and  often  broken.  There 
were  South  Carolina  troops  in  and  about  Elliott's  Salient.  Reveille 
would  sound  and  the  sun  would  rise  shortly  before  five  o'clock. 

The  stars  began  to  pale.  Ledlie  sent  to  General  Burnside  to  ask  the 
cause  of  delay.  The  men  had  been  in  ranks  for  four  hours.  Burn- 
side  answered  that  the  fuse  had  been  lit  at  a  quarter-past  three 
but  evidently  had  not  burned  the  sufficient  distance.  A  lieutenant 
and  a  sergeant  had  volunteered  to  enter  the  tunnel,  find  out  what 
was  the  matter  and  relight  the  fuse.  Ledlie's  aide  returned  and  re 
ported,  and  the  division  stood  tense,  gazing  with  a  strained  inten 
tion.  It  was  light  enough  now  to  see,  beyond  their  own  advanced 
works,  the  grey  line  they  meant  to  send  skyward.  Beyond  the  line 
was  Petersburg,  that  they  meant  to  take;  beyond  Petersburg,  a  day's 
march,  was  Richmond. 

The  light  strengthened,  pallor  in  the  north  and  south  and  west, 
in  the  east  a  cold,  faint,  upstreaming  purple.  Somewhere  in  the 
cavalry  lines  a  bugle  blew,  remote,  thin,  of  an  elfin  melancholy.  As 
though  it  had  been  the  signal,  the  mine  exploded. 

The  morning  light  was  darkened.  The  earth  heaved  so  that  many 
of  the  blue  staggered  and  fell.  A  mass  sprang  into  the  air,  mounted 
a  hundred  feet  and  spread  out  into  an  umbrella-shaped  cloud.  As 
it  began  to  descend,  it  was  seen  that  earth  and  rock  might  come  upon 
the  blue  themselves.  The  troops  gave  back  with  shouts. 

In  that  cloud  of  pulverized  earth,  smoke,  and  flame  were  mam 
moth  clods  of -clay,  one  as  large  as  a  small  cabin,  timber  of  salient 
and  breastworks,  guns,  carriages,  caissons,  sandbags,  anything  and 
everything  that  had  been  upon  the  mined  ground,  including  some 
hundreds  of  human  beings.  The  hole  it  left  behind  it  was  one  hun 
dred  and  seventy  feet  long,  sixty  wide,  and  thirty  deep.  Back  into 
this  now  rained  in  part  the  lumps  of  earth,  the  logs  of  wood,  the 


THE   CRATER  377 

pieces  of  iron,  the  human  clay.  The  trembling  of  the  earth  ceased, 
the  sound  of  the  detonation  ceased.  There  came  what  seemed  an 
instant  of  utter  quiet,  for  after  that  rage  of  sound  the  cries  of 
the  yet  living,  the  only  partially  buried  in  that  pit,  counted  as 
nothing.  The  instant  was  shattered  by  the  concerted  voice  of  one 
hundred  and  fifty  blue  guns  and  mortars,  prepared  and  stationed 
to  add  their  great  quota  of  death  and  terror.  They  brought  into 
that  morning  of  distraction  one  of  the  heaviest  cannonades  of  all 
the  war. 

Through  the  rocking  air,  in  the  first  slant  beams  of  the  sun  the 
blue  troops  heard  the  order  to  advance.  They  moved.  Before  them 
were  their  own  breastworks  over  which  they  must  swarm,  thus 
sharply  breaking  line.  Beyond  these,  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards 
away,  were  curious  heaps  of  earth,  something  like  dunes.  The  air 
above  was  yet  dust  and  smoke.  On  went  the  Second  Brigade,  lead 
ing.  It  came,  yet  without  just  alignment,  to  the  crest  of  the  dunes, 
and  from  these  it  saw  the  crater.  .  .  .  There  was  no  pausing,  there 
could  be  none,  for  the  First  Brigade,  immediately  in  the  rear,  was 
pressing  on.  The  blue  troops  slid  down  the  steep  incline  and  came 
upon  the  floor  of  the  crater,  among  the  debris  and  the  horribly 
caught  and  buried  and  smothered  men. 

There  followed  a  moment's  hesitation  and  gasp  of  astonishment; 
then  the  blue  officers  shouted  the  brigade  forward.  It  overpassed  the 
seamed  floor  and  reached  the  steep  other  side  of  the  excavation. 
Behind  it  it  heard,  or  might  have  heard  if  anything  could  have  been 
heard  in  the  roar  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  guns,  the  First  Brigade 
slipping  and  stumbling  in  its  turn  down  the  almost  perpendicular 
slope  into  the  crater.  The  Second  Brigade  climbed  somehow  the 
thirty  feet  up  to  the  level  of  the  world  at  large.  On  this  side  the 
hole  it  was  a  grey  world. 

If  the  explosion  had  stunned  the  grey,  they  had  now  regained 
their  senses.  If  the  force  of  the  appalling  blue  cannonade  caused  an 
end-of-the-world  sensation,  even  in  such  a  cataclysm  there  was  room 
for  action.  The  grey  acted.  Into  the  ruined  trenches  right  and  left 
of  and  behind  the  destroyed  salient  poured  what  was  left  of  Elliott's 
brigade.  Regiments  of  Wise  and  Ramseur  came  at  a  run.  Lee,  now 
with  Beauregard  at  the  threatened  front,  sent  orders  to  Mahone 
to  bring  up  two  brigades  with  all  speed.  A  gun  of  Davidson's 


378  CEASE  FIRING 

battery  in  a  salient  to  the  right  commanded  at  less  than  four  hun 
dred  yards  what  had  been  Elliott's  Salient  and  was  now  the  crater. 
Wright's  battery  on  the  left,  HaskelPs  Coehorn  mortars  fringing  a 
gorge  line  in  the  rear,  likewise  could  send  death  into  that  hollow.  In 
fantry  and  artillery,  the  grey  opened  with  a  steady,  rapid  fire.  And 
all  the  time,  behind  the  blue  Second  Brigade,  now  forming  for  a  rush 
on  the  greyward  edge  of  the  crater,  came  massing  into  that  deep  and 
wide  and  long  bear-pit  more  blue  troops,  and  yet  more.  And  now 
the  Second  Brigade,  checked  and  disconcerted  by  the  unexpected 
strength  of  the  resistance,  wavered,  could  not  be  formed,  fell  back 
into  the  crater  that  was  already  too  filled  with  men. 

Here  formation  became  impossible.  An  aide  was  sent  in  hot  haste 
to  General  Ledlie,  for  his  own  fame  somewhat  too  securely  placed 
in  the  rear.  Ledlie  sent  back  word  to  Marshall  and  Bartlett,  lead 
ing,  that  they  must  advance  and  assault  at  once;  it  was  General 
Burnside's  order.  The  aide  says:  "This  message  was  delivered.  But 
the  firing  on  the  crater  now  was  incessant,  and  it  was  as  heavy  a 
fire  of  canister  as  was  ever  poured  continuously  upon  a  single  ob 
jective  point.  It  was  as  utterly  impracticable  to  re-form  a  brigade 
in  that  crater  as  it  would  be  to  marshal  bees  into  line  after  upset 
ting  the  hive ;  and  equally  as  impracticable  to  re-form  outside  of 
the  crater,  under  the  severe  fire  in  front  and  rear,  as  it  would  be  to 
hold  a  dress  parade  in  front  of  a  charging  enemy." 

So  far  from  the  pit  being  cleared,  it  received  fresh  accessions. 
Griffin's  brigade,  coming  up,  tried  to  pass  by  the  right,  but  entangled 
in  a  maze  of  grey  earthworks,  trenches,  traverses,  and  disordered  by 
the  searching  fire,  it  too  fell  aside  and  sank  into  the  hollow  made  by 
the  mine.  ''Every  organization  melted  away,  as  soon  as  it  entered 
this  hole  in  the  ground,  into  a  mass  of  human  beings  clinging  by 
toes  and  heels  to  the  almost  perpendicular  sides.  If  a  man  was  shot 
on  the  crest  he  fell  and  rolled  to  the  bottom  of  the  pit." 

The  blue  Third  Division,  arriving,  attacked  the  manned  works 
to  the  left,  took  and  for  a  little  held  them,  then  was  driven  back. 
Haskell's  grey  battery  of  sixteen  guns  on  the  Jerusalem  Plank  Road 
came  greatly  into  action.  Lee  and  Beauregard  were  watching  from 
the  Gee  house.  Mahone,  of  A.  P.  Hill's  Corps,  was  coming  up  with 
three  brigades,  coming  fast.  .  .  . 

The  coloured  division  of  the  Ninth  Army  corps  had  a  song,  — 


THE  CRATER  379 

"  We  looks  lak  men  er-marchin'  on, 
We  looks  lak  men  ob  war — " 

They  had  sung  it  sitting  on  the  ground  around  camp-fires  the 
night  before  when  they  had  been  told  that  they  would  lead  the 
charge  —  the  great  charge  that  was  going  to  take  Blandford  Church 
and  Cemetery,  and  then  Petersburg,  and  then  Richmond,  and  was 
going  to  end  the  war  and  make  all  coloured  people  free,  and  give 
to  every  one  a  cabin,  forty  acres,  and  a  mule,  and  the  deathless 
friendship  of  the  Northern  people. 

",  We  looks  lak  men  er-marchin'  on, 
We  looks  lak  men  ob  war — " 

They  had  not  led  that  grotesquely  halted  charge,  but  now  they, 
too,  were  required  for  victims  by  the  crater.  Burnside  sent  an  order, 
"The  coloured  division  to  advance  at  all  hazards." 

It  advanced,  got  somehow  past  the  crater  and  came  to  a  bloody, 
hand-to-hand  conflict  with  the  grey.  The  fighting  here  was  brutal, 
a  maddening  short  war  in  which,  black  and  white,  the  always  ani 
mal  struggle  of  war  grew  more  animal  yet.  It  was  short.  The  coloured 
division  broke  and  fell  back  into  the  crater.  ...  All  the  grey  bat 
teries,  all  the  grey  infantry  poured  fire  into  this  place  where  Burn- 
side's  white  and  coloured  troops  were  now  inextricably  mixed.  At 
ten  o'clock  up  came  Mahone  with  three  brigades  and  swept  the 
place. 

By  two  o'clock  the  Confederate  lines  were  restored  and  the  battle 
of  the  crater  ended.  This  day  the  blue  had  been  hoist  by  their  own 
petard.  The  next  day  Grant  sent  a  flag  of  truce  asking  a  cessation 
of  hostilities  until  he  could  gather  his  wounded  and  bury  the  dead. 
Lee  gave  four  hours. 

During  this  truce  grey  soldiers  as  well  as  blue  pressed  to  the  edge 
of  the  crater  to  observe  and  wonder.  They  were  used  to  massacre 
and  horror  in  great  variety,  but  there  was  something  faintly  novel 
here.  They  came  not  ghoulishly,  but  good-naturedly  —  "  just  want 
ing  to  see  what  gunpowder  could  do!"  They  fraternized  with  the 
blue  at  work  and  the  blue  fraternized  with  them,  for  that  was  the 
way  the  grey  and  blue  did  between  hostilities.  They  spoke  the  same 
language,  they  read  the  same  Bible,  they  had  behind  them  the  same 
background  of  a  far  island  home,  and  then  of  small  sailing-ships  at 


380  CEASE   FIRING 

sea,  and  then  of  a  new  land,  huge  forests,  Indians,  wolves;  at  last 
towns  and  farms,  roads,  stages,  packet-boats,  and  railway  trains. 
They  had  to  an  extent  the  same  tastes  —  to  an  extent  like  casts  of 
countenance.  Theoneused  "Iguess"and  the  otherused  "Ireckon," 
and  they  differed  somewhat  in  temperament,  but  the  innermost 
meaning  was  not  far  from  being  the  same.  At  the  worst  an  observer 
from  a  far  country  might  have  said,  "They  are  half  brothers."  So 
they  fraternized  during  the  truce,  the  grey  this  afternoon,  the  more 
triumphant,  and  the  blue  the  more  rueful.  .  .  .  "Hello,  Yanks! 
You  were  going  to  send  us  to  Heaven,  were  n't  you?  and  instead  you 
got  sent  yourselves!"  —  "Never  mind!  better  luck  next  time!  You 
certainly  made  a  fuss  in  the  world  for  once ! "  —  "  How  many  pounds 
of  gunpowder?  'Eight  thousand.'  Geewhilikins !  That  was  a  siz 
able  charge!"  —  "If  you'd  been  as  flush  of  gunpowder  as  we  are, 
you  might  have  made  it  twenty,  just  as  easy!"  —  "There's  a  man 
buried  over  there  —  see,  where  the  boot  is  sticking  up!"  —  "Yes, 
you  blew  some  of  us  into  Heaven  —  twenty-two  gunners,  they  say, 
and  about  three  hundred  of  Elliott's  men — just  enough  to  show  your 
big  crowd  the  way!"  —  "That  junk-heap  over  there's  Pegram's 
guns."  —  "Such  a  mess!  White  men  and  black  men  and  caissons 
and  limbers."  —  "I  thought  that  body  was  moving;  but  no,  it  was 
something  else."  —  "  Got  any  tobacco?  "  —  "  We  'd  like  first-rate  to 
trade  for  coffee."  —  "There 's  a  man  crying  for  water.  Got  your  can 
teen? — mine  is  n't  any  nearer  than  a  spring  a  mile  away.  I  '11  take  it 
to  him —  know  what  thirst  means —  been  thirsty  myself  and  it  means 
Hell!  "  —  "Well,  it  was  a  fine  mine,  if  it  did  go  a  bit  wrong,  and  you 
deserve  a  lot  of  credit  —  though  I  don't  think  some  of  your  generals 
do!"  —  "Yes,  that's  so!  People  stay  what  they  always  were,  even 
through  war.  Lee  stays  Lee  and  Grant  stays  Grant,  and  Meade 
stays  Meade,  and  A.  P.  Hill  stays  A.  P.  Hill.  And  some  others 
stay  what  they  always  were,  too,  —  more's  the  pity!"  -  "Here, 
we'll  help  cover  this  row."  —  "Did  you  see  little  Billy  Mahone 
charging?  Pretty  fine,  was  n't  it?  "  —  "  Saw  your  Colonel  Marshall 
and  General  Bartlett  when  they  were  taken  prisoner.  They  seemed 
fine  men.  Yes,  that's  so!  We  ain't  got  a  monopoly,  and  you  ain't 
got  a  monopoly." 

The  truce  would  last  until  full  dark.  Now,  as  the  sun  went  down 
in  a  copper  sky,  most  of  the  work  was  done.  In  great  numbers  the 


THE   CRATER  381 

wounded  had  been  lifted  from  the  floor  and  sides  of  the  crater; 
in  great  numbers  the  dead  had  been  lowered  into  trenches,  shallow 
trenches,  the  earth  just  covering  the  escaped  from  life.  There  were 
yet  blue  working-parties,  a  faint  movement  of  blue  and  grey  watch 
ers,  but  the  crater  was  lonely  to  what  it  had  been.  Only  the  wild 
debris  remained,  and  the  mounds  beneath  which  life  had  gone  out 
and  been  buried.  There  seemed  a  silence,  too,  heavy  with  the  ap 
proaching  night.  A  grey  pioneer  detail  that  had  been  engaged  in 
repairing  a  work  that  flanked  the  vast  excavation  rested  on  spade 
and  pick  and  gazed  into  the  place.  An  infantry  company  of  A.  P. 
Hill's,  marching  to  some  assigned  post,  was  halted  for  five  minutes 
and  allowed  to  break  ranks.  Officers  and  men  desired  to  look  at  the 
big  hole  in  the  ground. 

In  groups  or  singly  they  peered  over  the  edge  or  scrambled  half 
way  down  the  loose  earth  of  the  sides.  The  sun's  rim  had  dipped; 
the  west  showed  a  forbidding  hue,  great  level  washes  of  a  cold  and 
sickly  colour.  Steadily  this  slope  of  the  great  earth  wheeled  under, 
leaving  the  quenchless  hearth  of  the  sun,  facing  the  night  without 
the  house  of  light.  It  was  all  but  dusk.  One  of  the  soldiers  of  this 
company  was  Maury  Stafford.  He  stood  alone,  his  back  to  a  great 
projecting  piece  of  timber  and  looked  into  the  pit  and  across  to  the 
copper  west.  "Barring  prison,"  he  thought,  "for  simple  horror  I 
have  never  seen  a  worse  place  than  this." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

THE   VALLEY 

EARLY'S  task  in  the  Valley  throughout  this  summer  and  au 
tumn  was  to  preserve  a  threatening  attitude  toward  blue 
territory  on  the  other  side  of  the  Potomac,  to  hinder  and 
harass  Federal  use  of  the  Chesapeake  and  Ohio  Canal  and  the  Balti 
more1  and  Ohio  Railroad,  and  to  render  the  Northern  Capital  so 
continuously  anxious  that  it  might  at  any  time  choose  to  weaken 
Grant  in  order  to  add  to  its  own  defences.  In  addition  he  had  pre 
sently  Sheridan  to  contend  with,  Sheridan  strengthened  by  Hunter, 
returned  now  from  the  Kanawha  Valley  to  the  main  battle-grounds. 
Sheridan's  task  in  the  Valley  was  to  give  body  to  the  Northern 
reasoning  as  to  the  uses,  at  this  stage  of  the  game,  of  that  section. 
With  war  rapidly  concentrating  as  it  now  was,  the  Northern  Govern 
ment  saw  the  Valley  no  more  as  a  battle-ground,  nor  as  of  especial 
use  to  the  blue  colour  on  the  chessboard.  But  it  was  of  use  to  the 
grey,  especially  that  rich  portion  of  it  called  the  Shenandoah  Val 
ley.  Moreover  it  was  grey;  scourge  it  well  and  you  scourged  a  grey 
province.  Make  it  untenable,  a  desert,  and  the  loss  would  be  felt 
where  it  was  meant  to  be  felt.  Sheridan,  with  Hunter  to  aid,  de 
vastated  as  thoroughly  as  if  his  name  had  been  Attila.  McCaus- 
land  made  a  cavalry  raid  into  Pennsylvania  and,  in  reprisal  for 
Hunter's  burnings,  burned  the  town  of  Chambersburg.  It  did  not 
stop  the  burnings  across  the  river;  they  went  on  through  the  length 
and  breadth  of  the  Valley  of  Virginia.  Over  the  mountains,  in 
Northern  Virginia,  in  the  rolling  counties  of  Fauquier  and  Loudoun, 
was  "Mosby's  Confederacy,"  where  the  most  daring  of  all  grey 
partisan  leaders  "operated  in  the  enemy's  lines."  Mosby  did  what 
lay  in  man  to  do  to  help  the  lower  Valley.  He  "worried  and  har 
assed"  Sheridan  by  day  and  by  night.  But  the  burning  and  lifting 
went  on.  When  late  autumn  came,  with  winter  before  it,  a  great 
region  lay  bare,  and  over  it  wandered  a  vision  of  drawn  faces  of 
women  and  a  cry  of  small  children. 


THE  VALLEY  383 

Sheridan  in  person  did  not  come  until  the  first  week  in  August. 
Late  in  July  Early  fought  the  Army  of  West  Virginia,  Crook  and 
Averell,  at  Winchester  —  fought  and  won.  Here  the  Golden  Brig 
ade  did  good  service,  and  here  the  " Fighting  Sixty-fifth"  won 
mention  again,  and  here  Steve  Dagg  definitely  determined  to  re 
nounce  the  Confederate  service. 

Life  had  taken  on  for  Steve  an  aspect  of  '62  in  the  Valley  —  only 
worse.  In  a  dreadful  dream  he  seemed  to  be  recovering  old  tints, 
repeating  old  experiences  from  Front  Royal  to  Winchester  —  but 
all  darkened  and  hardened.  In  '62  the  country  was  still  rich,  and 
you  could  forage,  but  now  there  was  no  foraging.  There  was  no 
thing  to  forage  for.  Then  the  old  Army  of  the  Valley  had  been  ill- 
clad  and  curiously  confident  and  cheerful,  with  Mr.  Commissary 
Banks  double-quicking  down  the  pike,  before  Old  Jack!  Now  the 
Second  Corps  was  worse-clad,  and  far,  far  from  the  ancient  careless 
cheer.  It  still  laughed  and  joked  and  sang,  but  less  often,  and  al 
ways,  when  it  did  laugh,  it  was  with  a  certain  grimness  as  of  Despair 
not  far  off.  On  night  and  day  marches,  you  heard  song  and  jest, 
indeed,  but  you  heard  heavy  sighs  as  well  —  a  heavy  sighing  in  the 
night-time  or  the  daytime,  as  the  army  moved  on  the  Valley  Pike. 
Now  confident  good  cheer  in  others  was  extraordinarily  necessary 
to  Steve.  When  it  flagged,  it  was  as  though  a  raft  had  sunk  from 
beneath  him.  Yes,  it  was  '62  over  again,  but  a  homesick,  strange, 
far  worse  '62 !  Daily  life  grew  to  be  for  him  a  series  of  shocks,  more 
or  less  violent,  but  all  violent.  Life  went  in  magic-lantern  slides  — 
alternate  blackness  and  frightful,  vivid  pictures  in  which  blood  red 
predominated.  Steve  developed  a  morbid  horror  of  blood. 

August  came.  At  Moorefield  occurred  a  cavalry  fight,  Averell 
against  McCausland  and  Bradley  Johnson,  the  grey  suffering  defeat. 
On  the  seventh  came  Sheridan  with  the  Sixth  and  the  Nineteenth 
Army  Corps  and  Torbert's  great  force  of  cavalry.  The  blue  forces 
in  the  Valley  now  numbered  perhaps  forty-five  thousand,  with  some 
thousands  more  in  garrison  at  Martinsburg  and  Harper's  Ferry. 
Lee  sent  in  this  month  Kershaw's  division  and  Fitzhugh  Lee's  cav 
alry,  but  in  a  few  weeks,  indeed,  Kershaw  must  be  recalled  to  Peters 
burg,  where  they  needed  every  man  —  every  man  and  more !  In  the 
Valley  August  and  the  first  third  of  September  went  by  in  marchings 
and  counter-marchings,  infantry  skirmishing  and  cavalry  raids.  The 


384  CEASE  FIRING 

third  week  of  the  latter  month  found  the  grey  gathered  behind  the 
Opequon. 

Mid-September  and  the  woods  by  the  Opequon  turning  red  and 
gold.  "Ah,"  said  the  Sixty-fifth,  "we  camped  here  after  Sharps- 
burg,  before  we  went  over  the  mountains  and  fought  at  Fredericks- 
burg!  But  it  is  n't  as  it  was  —  it  is  n't  as  it  was  — " 

Gordon  and  Breckenridge  and  Ramseur  and  Rodes,  with  Fitz  Lee's 
cavalry  sent  up  from  Tidewater,  all  camped  for  a  time  beside  the 
Opequon.  The  stream  ran  with  an  inner  voice,  an  autumn  colouring 
was  on  the  land.  "  But  it  is  n't  bright,"  said  the  men,  "it  is  n't  bright 
like  it  was  that  fall!"  —  "Is  n't  time  yet  for  it  to  be  bright.  Bright 
in  October."  —  "Yes,  of  course  —  but  that  fall  it  was  bright  all  the 
time!  The  seasons  are  changing  anyhow."  —  "What's  that  the 
Bible  student 's  saying?  '  The  lean  kine  and  the  lean  ears  of  corn  — ' " 
Opequon  flowed  on,  brown  and  clear,  but  much  of  the  woodland  by 
Opequon  had  been  hewed  away,  and  the  bordering  lands  were  not 
now  under  cultivation.  All  were  bare  and  sorrowful.  There  were  no 
cattle,  no  stock  of  any  kind.  The  leaves  turned  red  and  the  leaves 
turned  yellow  and  the  wind  murmured  through  the  hacked  and 
hewed  forest,  and  the  nights  were  growing  chill.  "Do  you  remem 
ber,"  said  the  men,  "the  day  that  Heros  von Borcke brought  Old 
Jack  the  new  uniform  from  Jeb  Stuart  ?"  —  "Do  you  remember 
the  revival  here?" 

"  We  're  tenting  to-night  on  the  old  camp-ground. 
Give  us  a  song  to  cheer — " 

The  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  all  divisions  moved  nearer  to 
Winchester.  The  nineteenth  the  battle  of  Winchester  had  its  mo 
ment  in  time,  —  a  battle  very  fortunate  for  the  Confederates  early 
in  the  day,  not  at  all  so  fortunate  later  in  the  day,  —  a  fierce,  drama 
tic  battle,  in  which  the  blue  cavalry  played  the  lion's  part,  —  blue 
cavalry  very  different,  under  Sheridan  in  '64,  from  the  untrained 
and  weakly  handled  blue  cavalry  of  the  earlier  years,  —  a  battle 
in  which  Rodes  was  killed  and  Fitzhugh  Lee  wounded,  in  which 
killed  and  wounded  and  missing  the  blue  lost  upward  of  five  thou 
sand,  and  in  killed  and  wounded  and  captured  the  grey  lost  as  many 
—  a  bitter  battle! 

Steve  had  to  fight  —  he  could  not  get  out  of  it.  He  was  out  on  the 


THE   VALLEY  385 

Berryville  road  —  Abraham's  Creek  at  his  back.  The  Sixty-fifth 
was  about  him;  it  was  steady  and  bold,  and  he  got  some  warmth 
about  his  heart  out  of  the  fact.  In  the  hopeful  first  half  of  the  day, 
with  a  ruined  stone  wall  for  breastwork,  with  Nelson's  and  Brax- 
ton's  guns  making  a  shaken  grey  rag  of  the  atmosphere,  with  Ram- 
seur  standing  fast,  with  Gordon  and  Rodes  sweeping  to  Ramseur's 
aid,  with  Breckenridge,  the  "  Kentucky  Gamecock,"  fighting  as 
magnificently  as  he  looked,  with  Lomax  and  Fitz  Lee,  with  the  storm 
and  shouting,  and  the  red  field  and  blue  and  starry  cross  advanced, 
with  about  him  the  strength  of  the  Golden  Brigade  and  the  un 
troubled  look  of  the  Sixty-fifth,  Steve  even  fought  as  he  had  never 
fought  before.  He  tore  cartridges,  loaded  and  fired,  and  he  grinned 
when  the  wind  blew  the  smoke,  and  the  opposite  force  was  seen  to 
give  way.  When  the  Golden  Brigade  went  forward  in  a  charge,  he 
went  with  it  a  good  part  of  the  way.  But  then  he  stumbled 
over  a  stone  and  fell  with  an  oath  as  of  pain.  The  Golden  Brigade 
and  the  Sixty-fifth  went  on  and  left  him  there  near  a  convenient 
cairn  of  stones  with  a  reddened  vine  across  it.  His  action  had  been 
largely  automatic;  he  had  no  longer  in  such  matters  the  agony  of 
choosing;  as  soon  as  fear  entered  his  heart  his  joints  acted.  Now 
they  drew  him  more  securely  behind  the  heap  of  stones.  Far  ahead, 
he  heard,  through  the  thunder  of  the  guns,  the  voice  of  the  Golden 
Brigade,  the  voice  of  the  Sixty-fifth  Virginia  charging  the  foe.  He 
looked  down,  and  to  his  horror  he  saw  that  he  was  really  wounded. 
This  was  high  noon,  and  at  high  noon  the  grey  thought  with 
justice  that  they  had  the  field,  had  it,  despite  the  fall  of  Rodes,  a 
general  beloved.  Now  set  in  a  level  two  hours  of  hard  fighting  to 
hold  that  field.  .  .  .  And  then  wheeled  on  the  afternoon,  and  the 
tide  definitely  turned.  Crook's  corps,  not  until  now  engaged,  struck 
the  left  on  the  Martinsburg  Pike,  and  the  blue  cavalry,  disciplined 
now  and  strong,  came  in  a  whirlwind  upon  the  rear  of  this  wing, 
pushing  it  and  a  cavalry  brigade  of  Fitz  Lee's  back  —  back  —  back 
through  Winchester  —  back  on  the  centre  and  right,  now  furiously 
attacked  by  all  three  arms.  The  tide  raced  to  its  ebb  with  the 
grey.  .  .  .  Gordon  found  his  wife  in  the  street  in  Winchester, 
pleading  with  Gordon's  men  to  go  back  and  strike  them  anyhow. 
Her  tears  were  streaming.  "The  first  time  I  ever  saw  Confederate 
lines  broken,  and  I  hope  it  will  be  the  last!" 


386  CEASE  FIRING 

They  were  broken.  It  was  not  wild  panic  nor  rout,  but  it  was  a 
lost  battle,  known  as  such  at  last  by  even  the  most  stubbornly  de 
termined  or  recklessly  brave.  By  twilight  the  Second  Corps  was 
in  retreat,  moving  in  order  up  the  Valley  Pike,  sullen  and  sorrowful, 
torn  and  decimated  and  weary,  heartsick  with  the  dead  and  wounded 
and  captured  left  behind.  Kernstown !  They  looked  at  the  old  field 
with  unseeing  eyes. 

Steve,  behind  his  cairn  of  stones,  had  viewed  with  agony  a  blue 
cavalry  charge  coming.  It  passed  him  in  dust  and  thunder,  the  hoof 
of  a  great  chestnut  actually  striking  his  shoulder.  It  passed,  but 
the  dust  had  not  settled  before  infantry  of  Rodes,  pressed  this  way, 
overran  his  fraction  of  the  field,  behind  them  another  wild  cavalry 
dash.  It  was  sickening  to  see  the  horses  ride  men  down,  ride  them 
down  and  strike  them  under!  It  was  sickening  to  see  the  sabres 
flash,  descend  all  bright  and  rise  so  red!  It  was  sickening  to  hear 
cries,  oaths,  adjuration,  and  under  all  a  moaning,  moaning!  And 
the  smoke,  so  thick  and  stifling,  and  a  horror  even  of  taste  and 
smell  .  .  .  Steve,  with  a  flesh  wound  across  his  thigh  where  a  bul 
let  had  glanced,  got  up  and  ran,  dropping  blood. 

As  he  went  he  found  about  him  the  wildest  confusion.  Units  and 
groups  of  cavalry,  infantry,  and  artillery  were  shaken  together  as  in 
a  glass.  Here  infantry  preponderated,  here  mad  horses,  larger  than 
nature,  appeared  to  rear  in  the  smoke,  and  here  panting  men  tried 
to  drag  away  the  guns.  Here  were  the  wounded,  here  were  shouting 
and  crying,  here  were  officers,  impassioned,  rallying,  appealing, 
coercing,  and  here  were  the  half-sobbing  answers  of  their  men. 
"Lost,  lost!  "said  in  effect  the  answers  of  the  men.  "Lost,  lost!  You, 
the  leaders,  know  it,  and  we  know  it.  You  would  lead  us  to  noble 
death,  but  we  must  keep  to  life  if  we  can.  We  have  fought  very 
well,  and  now  we  are  tired,  and  there  is  something  to  be  said  for 
knowing  when  you  are  beaten  and  trying  another  tack." 
"Lost,  lost!"  said  the  shot  and  shell.  "Lost,  lost!"  said  the  wind 
whistling  from  the  sabres  of  Merritt's  charging  cavalry.  "Lost, 
lost!"  said  the  autumn  night.  "Lost,  lost!"  said  the  dust  on  the 
Valley  Pike. 

Steve  tried  to  get  taken  on  in  an  ambulance,  but  the  surgeon  in 
charge  first  laid  practised  fingers  around  his  wrist,  and  then  told 
him  to  go  to  hell  —  in  short  to  walk  to  hell  —  and  leave  ambulances 


THE   VALLEY  387 

for  hurt  folks.  "  Gawd! "  thought  Steve,  "  V  I  saved  this  army  on 
theroadtoBuford's!" 

Night  came  on,  night  without  and  night  within.  The  outer  night 
was  a  night  of  stars.  Myriads  and  myriads,  they  showed,  star  clouds 
in  the  Milky  Way,  and  scattered  stars  in  the  darker  spaces.  The 
air  was  very  clear,  and  the  starshine  showed  the  road  —  the  long, 
palely  gleaming,  old,  old,  familiar  road.  Within,  the  night  was  dark, 
dark !  and  peopled  with  broken  hopes.  Tramp,  tramp  !  on  the  Valley 
Pike.  Tramp,  tramp  1  with  sore  and  tired  feet,  with  hot  and  tired 
hearts.  Tramp,  tramp!  and  all  the  commands  were'broken,  officers 
seeking  for  their  men  and  men  for  their  officers,  a  part  of  one  regi 
ment  marching  with  a  part  of  another,  all  the  moulds  cracked. 
Tramp,  tramp  /  Tramp,  tramp  I  and  fathers  were  weeping  silently  for 
sons,  and  sons  for  their  fathers,  and  brothers  for  brothers,  and  many 
for  their  country.  Tramp,  tramp  !  and  there  came  a  vision  of  the 
burning  Valley,  and  of  Atlanta  burning,  burning,  for  not  one  house, 
said  the  dispatches,  had  Sherman  left  standing,  and  a  vision  of  the 
trenches  at  Petersburg,  and  a  vision  of  Richmond,  Richmond  per 
haps  crashing  down  in  ruin  to-night,  wall  and  pillar,  and  the  flames 
going  up.  Tramp,  tramp  I  and  a  flame  of  wrath  came  into  the  march 
ing  hearts,  welcome  because  it  warmed,  welcome  because  anger  and 
hate  gave  at  least  a  strength,  like  a  pale  reflex  of  the  strength  of  love, 
welcome  because  before  it  fled  the  shadows  of  weakness,  and  in  it 
despair  grew  heroic.  Now  the  men,  exhausted  as  they  were,  would 
have  turned,  and  gone  back  and  struck  Sheridan.  Tramp,  tramp! 
Tramp,  tramp  I  and  there  came  a  firmness  into  the  sound.  Through 
out  the  night,  now  it  came  and  now  it  went,  and  now  it  came  again. 

The  night  went  by,  though  it  was  long  in  going.  Dawn  came, 
though  it  was  slow  in  coming.  When  it  was  light  we  saw  Massa- 
nutten,  and  the  north  fork  of  Shenandoah,  and  Fisher's  Hill.  "This 
is  a  good  place  to  stand,"  said  Early,  and  began  to  build  breastworks. 
In  the  afternoon  up  came  Sheridan,  something  over  twice  as  many- 
numbered  as  the  grey,  and  all  flushed  with  victory,  and  took  his 
stand  on  Cedar  Creek,  several  miles  from  Fisher's  Hill.  All  day  the 
twenty-first  and  part  of  the  twenty-second  he  reconnoitred,  and  in 
the  night-time  of  the  twenty-first  he  placed  Crook  and  the  Army  of 
West  Virginia  in  the  deep  forest  between  Little  North  Mountain 
and  the  Confederate  left.  They  stayed  there  hidden  until  nearly 


388  CEASE   FIRING 

sundown  of  the  twenty-second.  Then  he  brought  them  out  in  a 
flank  attack,  so  sudden  and  so  swift !  .  .  .  And  at  the  same  moment 
all  his  legions  struck  against  the  centre. 

Steve  heard  the  cry,  "  Flanked !  —  We  are  flanked ! "  He  witnessed 
the  rush  of  arms,  and  then  he  waited  not  to  see  defeat  —  which 
came.  He  fled  at  once.  Halfway  to  Woodstock  he  stopped  at  a 
Dunkard's  house,  where  an  old,  long-bearded  man  gave  him  a  piece 
of  bread  and  asked  no  questions,  but  sat  looking  at  him  with  dreamy, 
disapproving  eyes.  "Yes,  the  soldier  could  sleep  here,  although  to 
be  a  soldier  was  to  be  a  great  sinner."  Steve  did  not  care  for  that. 
He  slept  very  well  for  an  hour  on  the  floor  of  a  small  bare  room  above 
the  porch.  At  the  end  of  that  time  he  was  awakened  by  a  sound 
upon  the  pike.  He  sat  up,  then  went  on  all  fours  across  to  the  win 
dow  and  put  out  his  head.  "Gawd!  they're  comin'  up  the  pike  — 
retreatin'!"  He  felt  a  wild  indignation.  "The  Second  Corps  ain't 
any  more  what  it  used  to  be!  Retreatin'  every  whipstitch  like  it's 
beendoinV  Tramp,  tramp!  Tramp,  tramp!  He  heard  them  through 
the  dark,  clear  night,  growing  loud  now  upon  the  limestone  pike. 
"Well,  I  ain't  a-goin'  along!  I'm  tireder  than  any  dawg!  —  'n' 
hurt  besides."  He  lay  down  beneath  the  window  and  shut  his  eyes. 
But  he  could  not  keep  the  sound  out,  nor  a  picture  of  the  column 
from  winding  through  his  brain.  "They  ain't  got  any  shoes,  'n' 
they're  gettin'  so  ragged,  'n'  hunger-pinched.  They're  gettin' 
hunger-pinched.  They've  fought  'n'  fought  till  they're  most  at  a 
standstill.  They  've  fought  mighty  hard.  Ain't  anybody  ever  fought 
any  harder.  But  now  they're  tired  —  awful  tired.  No  shoes,  'n' 
ragged,  'n'  hunger-pinched  —  Coffin,  'n'  Allan,  'n'  Billy,  'n'  Dave, 
'n'  Jim  Watts,  'n'  Bob  White,  'n'  Reynolds,  'n'  all  of  them.  Even 
Zip  the  coon'shunger-pinched.  They 've  all  got  large  eyes,  'n'  they've 
fought  most  to  a  standstill,  'n'  the  flags  are  gettin'  heavy  to 
carry.  .  .  ."  Tramp,  tramp!  Tramp,  tramp!  He  dozed  and  heard 
the  gun-wheels  in  a  half  dream,  crossing  a  bridge  with  a  hollow  sound. 
Wheels  and  wheels  and  a  hollow  sound.  Memory  played  him  a  trick. 
He  was  lying  in  a  miry,  weedy  ditch  under  a  small  bridge  on  the  road 
between  Middletown  and  Winchester.  The  guns  were  passing  over 
his  head,  rumble,  rumble,  rumble!  And  then  a  plank  broke  and  a  gun- 
wheel  came  down  and  tried  to  knock  him  in  to  Kingdom  Come.  .  .  . 
He  woke  fully  with  a  violent  start  and  the  sweat  cold  upon  his 


THE   VALLEY  389 

body.  .  .  .  The  column  was  directly  passing,  —  he  heard  voices, 
marching  feet,  officers'  orders,  wheels,  hoofs,  marching  feet,  voices, 
—  all  distant,  continuous  sound  broken,  become  a  loud,  immediate, 
choppy  sea.  "Go  on!"  whispered  Steve.  "Go  on!  I  ain't  a-goin' 
with  you." 

The  column  went  on,  marching  by  the  little  dark  and  silent  house, 
on  up  the  pike,  beneath  the  stars,  toward  Woodstock,  and  some 
pause  perhaps  beyond.  It  moved  so  near  that  Steve  heard  at  times 
what  the  soldiers  said.  He  gathered  that  Fisher's  Hill  was  a  word 
of  gloom  and  would  remain  so.  On  it  went,  on  it  went,  until  from 
van  to  rear  ten  thousand  men  had  passed.  And  then,  as  the  sound 
of  the  sea  was  lessening,  a  knot  of  officers  drew  up  almost  beneath 
the  window.  They  spoke  in  slow,  tired,  dragging  voices.  "Orders 
are  no  halt  until  we  Ve  passed  Woodstock.  —  Six  miles  yet.  Where 
then?  I  do  not  know.  —  Fight  again?  Yes,  of  course  —  fight  to  the 
bitter  end!  I  don't  suppose  it's  far  off.  —  Here's  Berkeley.  Well, 
what's  the  news,  Captain?" 

" Sheridan 's  after  us,  sir.  .  .  .  Listen!" 

They  listened.  "Yes.  .  .  .  Coming  up  the  pike.  .  .  .  I  should 
say  he  has  thirty  thousand  infantry  and  as  many  horse  as  we  have 
of  all  three  arms.  Well !  let  the  curtain  ring  down.  We  Ve  made  good 
drama." 

When  they  were  gone,  Steve  rose  and  leaned  cautiously  out  of 
the  window.  Yes,  he  could  hear  the  Yankees,  he  could  hear  them 
coming.  They  were  far  off,  but  they  were  coming,  coming.— 
A  light  burst  forth  in  the  night,  in  the  north,  then  another 
and  another.  "They're  firm'  barns  and  houses  as  they  pass."  • 
Below  him  rose  a  final  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs,  voices,  curt  orders, 
oaths  —  the  grey  rear  guard  drawing  off,  following  the  main  body. 
Steve  ran  downstairs  and  out  into  the  road.  He  stopped  a  horseman. 
"  For  Gawd's  sake,  comrade,  take  me  onbehind  you !  I  marched  with 
the  boys  till  I  just  dropped,  'n'  I  said,  '  Go  on,  V  maybe  a  horse  or 
a  wagon '11  be  good  to  me.'  —  I  got  a  sore  hurt  in  the  leg  — 

"All  right,"  said  the  horseman.  "Get  up!"  and  they  went  on  up 
the  pike  with  the  sky  red  behind  them,  and  night  before.  "  It 's  most 
the  end,  I  reckon." 

Woodstock  —  and  a  halt  below  at  Narrow  Passage  —  then  on  a 
windy,  dusty  day  to  New  Market,  while  Sheridan  paused  and  fin- 


390  CEASE  FIRING 

ally  went  into  camp  at  Mount  Jackson  —  then  aside  from  the  Valley 
Pike,  eastward  by  the  Port  Republic  road  —  then  into  the  great 
shady  amphitheatre  of  Brown's  Gap  —  and  here  quiet  at  last,  quiet 
and  rest.  Again  it  was  an  old,  old  camping-ground.  The  Second 
Corps  stared,  sombre-eyed,  with  faces  that  worked.  "Old  Jube  is 
all  right  —  but,  O  God,  for  Stonewall  Jackson!" 

Weeks  went  by.  The  woods  changed,  indeed.  The  leaves  bright 
ened  and  brightened,  and  now  they  began  to  fall  in  every  wind.  To 
and  fro,  forth  from  the  gaps  of  the  Blue  Ridge  and  back  to  their 
shelter,  moved  the  Army  of  the  Valley,  to  and  fro — to  and  fro.  In 
these  days  came  Kershaw,  sent  by  Lee  —  twenty-seven  hundred 
infantry  and  Cutshaw's  battery.  The  Second  Corps  welcomed 
South  Carolina.  "  You  're  the  fiery  boys!  'Come,  give  us  a  song 
to  cheer ! '  —  Never  have  forgotten  how  you  taught  us  to  cook  rice ! 
—  in  the  first  century,  along  about  First  Manassas.  Never  have 
forgotten,  but  the  commissary's  out  of  rice." 

In  these  days  Sheridan,  keeping  his  main  force  between  New  Mar 
ket  and  Woodstock,  began  with  that  great  force  of  Torbert's  cavalry 
to  harry  the  Valley  as  it  had  not  yet  been  harried.  He  wrecked  the 
Central  Railroad  and  burned  bridges  and  sent  the  Confederate 
stores  at  Staunton  up  in  flames.  That  was  all  right;  that  was  un 
derstood  —  but  Sheridan  stopped  there  as  little  as  would  Attila  have 
done.  Before  winter  came,  he  swept  the  Valley  bare  as  Famine's 
hand;  he  made  it  so  bare  that  he  said  himself,  "A  crow,  flying 
over  the  Valley  of  Virginia,  would  have  had  to  take  his  rations  with 
him." 

A  little  past  the  middle  of  October  Early  determined  to  attack. 
With  Kershaw  and  with  Rosser's  small  reinforcement  of  cavalry,  he 
could  bring  into  the  field  a  force  little  more  than  a  third  the  size  of 
the  blue  army  now  lined  up  behind  Cedar  Creek.  But  forage  and 
supplies  were  gone ;  it  was  risk  all  or  lose  all.  " '  Beggars  must  not  be 
choosers,' "  said  Early,  and  the  Second  Corps  went  back  to  the  Val 
ley  Pike  and  marched  toward  Fisher's  Hill.  It  marched  through  a 
country  where  all  was  burned,  —  houses,  mills,  barns,  wheat  and 
straw  and  hay,  wagons  and  farm  implements,  smithies,  country  stores 
and  hostelries,  —  all,  all  charred  and  desolate.  It  saw  women  and 
children,  crouching  for  warmth  against  blackened  chimney-stacks. 

It  marched  hungry  itself  and  now  with  tattered  clothing  —  all 


THE  VALLEY  391 

the  small  divisions,  the  small  brigades,  the  small  regiments  —  all 
the  defenders  of  the  Valley,  taking  now  so  little  room  on  the  Valley 
Pike.  It  marched  with  a  fringe  of  stragglers,  with  a  body  of  the  sick 
and  straggling  bringing  up  the  rear.  Nowadays  men  straggled  who 
had  never  done  that  before ;  nowadays  men  deserted  who  were  not 
deserters  by  nature.  And  mostly  these  deserted  because  a  cry,  in 
sistent  and  wild,  reached  them  from  home.  "Starving!  We  are 
starving  and  homeless.  I,  your  mother,  am  crying  for  bread!  — 
I,  your  wife,  am  crying  for  bread!  —  We,  your  children,  are  crying 
for  bread!  We  are  sick — we  are  dying — we  will  never  see  you 
again — " 


CHAPTER  XXXVII  , 

CEDAR   CREEK 

ON  the  eighteenth  of  October,  the  grey  being  again  drawn  up 
at  Fisher's  Hill,  Gordon ,  with  General  Clement  Evans  and  Jed 
Hotchkiss  and  Major  Hunter  of  Gordon's  staff,  climbed  Mas- 
sanutten,  overhanging  the  Confederate  right.  Up  here,  on  the  craggy 
mountain  brow,  high  in  the  blue  air,  resting  a  moment  amid  red 
scrub  oak  and  yellow  hickory,  they  looked  forth.  They  saw  the 
wonderful  country,  the  coloured  forest  falling,  slope  after  slope, 
from  their  feet,  the  clear-flowing  Shenandoah,  Cedar  Creek  wind 
ing  between  hills,  and  on  these  hills  they  saw  with  their  field-glasses 
Sheridan's  army.  "Not  only,"  says  Gordon,  "  did  we  see  the  general 
outlines  of  Sheridan's  breastworks,  but  every  parapet  where  his 
heavy  guns  were  mounted,  and  every  piece  of  artillery,  every  wagon 
and  tent  and  supporting  line  of  troops.  ...  I  could  count,  and 
did  count,  the  number  of  his  guns.  I  could  see  distinctly  the  three 
colours  of  trimmings  on  the  jackets  respectively  of  infantry,  artil 
lery,  and  cavalry^  and  locate  each,  while  the  number  of  flags  gave  a 
basis  for  estimating  approximately  the  forces  with  which  we  were 
to  contend  in  the  proposed  attack." 

Down  went  Gordon  and  reported  to  Early.  "We  can  turn  his 
flank,  sir.  We  can  come  with  one  spring  upon  his  left  and  rear. 
Demonstrate  right  and  centre  where  he  is  formed  to  repel  us,  but 
strike  him  on  the  left  where  he  is  n't!  He  thinks  he's  got  there  for 
shield  an  impassable  mountain  and  a  river." 

Early  swore.  "Well,  is  n't  the  mountain  impassable?  It  looks  it. 
It's  precipitous." 

"No.  There's  a  very  narrow  path.  Start  at  nightfall  and  we  can 
cross  the  corps,  single-file,  by  dawn." 

Early  swore  again,  but  in  the  end  approved.  " !  It's  a  des 
perate  game,  but  then  we're  desperate  gamesters! !  All  right, 

General!  Get  your  men  ready." 

The  red-gold  day  drew  to  a  close.  Through  all  the  Second  Corps 


THE   SCOUT 


CEDAR  CREEK  393 

there  ran  an  undefined  tremor,  a  beat  of  hope,  a  feeling  as  of,  per 
haps,  —  God  knew !  —  better  things  at  last !  Supperless  men  looked 
almost  fed.  With  the  shining-out  of  the  evening  star  the  Second 
Corps  began  to  move  across  the  face  of  Massanutten.  The  way  was 
narrow.  Above  sprang  the  mountain  heights,  below  rolled  the 
Shenandoah.  Soldier  followed  in  soldier's  footsteps,  very  silently, 
sure-footed,  under  orders  not  to  speak.  Ragged  and  grey  and  silent, 
their  gun-barrels  faintly  gleaming,  they  went  along,  high  on  the  side 
of  Massanutten,  along,  thin,  moving  thread,  moving  all  night  in  the 
autumn  wind.  Steve  was  of  it,  of  it  because  he  could  not  help  him 
self.  He  had  tried  —  he  certainly  had  tried  hard,  as  he  told  himself 
with  water  in  his  eyes  —  but  Dave  May  dew  had  adopted  him,  and 
would  n't  let  him  out  of  his  sight.  Now  he  was  moving  between 
Dave  and  Jim  Watts  —  and  he  was  n't  let  to  speak  —  and  he  heard 
Shenandoah  brawling,  brawling  down  below  —  and  the  world  was 
lonesomer  than  lonesome !  There  were  to-night  a  number  of  shoot 
ing  stars.  There  was  something  awful  in  the  height  of  the  sky  and 
in  the  appearance  and  disappearance  of  these  swift  lights.  Steve 
felt  an  imaginative  horror.  The  end  of  the  world  began  to  trouble 
him,  and  a  query  as  to  when  it  was  going  to  happen.  "  Maybe  it 's 
goin'  to  happen  sooner  'n  we  think!" 

Ahead,  where  there  was  a  buttress  of  cliff,  very  evident  from  where 
the  Sixty-fifth  moved  in  a  concave  filled  with  shadow,  occurred  a 
gash  across  the  footpath  which  made  it  dangerous.  This  side  of  the 
shoulder  was  well  hidden  from  any  blue  picket  across  the  water.  A 
torch  had  been  lighted  and  was  now  held  close  to  the  earth,  so  that 
eyes  might  read  and  feet  might  safely  cross  the  gash  in  the  way. 
The  red,  smoky,  upstreaming  light  just  showed  each  passing  soldier. 
The  Golden  Brigade  moved  forward,  regiment  by  regiment.  The 
Sixty-fifth  yet  halted  in  the  hollow  of  the  mountain,  recognized 
Cleave  as  he  stood  a  moment  bathed  in  the  red  light.  There  was  a 
sound  of  satisfaction.  "We're  all  right.  We're  going  to  win  some 
more." 

Over  the  face  of  Massanutten  went  the  Second  Corps  —  over  in 
silence  and  safety  —  over  and  on  to  the  woods  beside  Shenandoah. 
Here  the  divisions  were  halted,  here  they  lay  down  on  the  fallen 
leaves  and  waited.  They  heard  the  river,  they  heard  the  voices  of 
the  blue  vedettes  upon  the  farther  side.  They  waited  —  all  the 


394  CEASE  FIRING 

ragged  grey  troops  —  lying  on  the  leaves,  in  the  cold  hour  before  the 
dawn.  They  were  very  hungry,  very  tired.  Some  of  them  slept; 
others  lay  and  thought  and  thought,  or  looked  at  pictures  in  the 
dark.  Steve  still  watched  the  shooting  stars,  still  thought  of  the 
Judgment  Day.  He  was  conscious  of  a  kind  of  exaltation.  "I'm 
gettin'  to  be  a  fighter  with  the  best  of  them!" 

The  lines  of  grey  rose  from  the  moss  and  leaves.  A  cold  and  pallid 
light  was  in  the  forest.  Ahead  broke  out  shouting,  and  then  a  rapid 
carbine  firing.  Payne  and  his  cavalry  were  on  the  bank  of  Shenan- 
doah,  midstream  in  Shenandoah,  —  on  the  farther  bank,  — in  touch, 
like  lightning  before  the  storm,  with  the  blue  vedettes  and  mounted 
supports !  Fall  in  !  Fall  in  !  —  Forward ! 

How  cold  was  the  water  of  Shenandoah!  North  Carolina  and 
Georgia  troops  and  Terry's  brigade,  that  held  within  it  most  of  the 
fragments  of  the  old  Stonewall  Brigade,  were  the  first  to  enter.  Be 
hind  came  all  the  others,  the  mass  of  the  Second  Corps.  Cold  was  the 
October  water,  —  cold,  deep,  and  rushing  fast  to  the  sea.  Over  it, 
holding  high  every  musket,  went  the  Second  Corps,  and  made  no 
tarrying,  formed  in  the  thickening  light  in  the  woods  where  the  blue 
outposts  had  been,  formed  and  went  forward  at  a  run,  led  by  the  din 
of  the  cavalry  ahead.  Not  only  the  cavalry,  for  now  they  heard 
Kershaw  thundering  upon  the  front.  Everywhere  noise  arose  and 
tore  the  solemn  dawn.  The  woods  opened,  there  came  a  sense  of 
cleared  spaces,  and  then  a  vision  of  a  few  breastworks,  —  not  many, 
for  Sheridan  had  not  thought  his  army  could  be  turned,  —  of  ser 
ried  tents,  of  a  headquarters  flag,  of  a  great  park  of  bubbly,  white- 
topped  wagons,  of  the  rear,  in  short,  of  the  Army  of  the  Shenandoah. 
It  showed  a  scene  of  vast  and  sudden  confusion  and  noise;  it  buzzed 
like  an  overturned  hive.  "  Yaaihhh  I  Yaaiihhh !  Yaaaaiiiihhh!" 
rang  the  yell  of  the  Second  Corps. 

It  struck  so  fierce  and  it  struck  so  fell,  while  in  front  Kershaw 
and  Rosser  aided  so  ably  —  the  bees  all  left  the  hive  and,  save 
those  who  were  struck  to  the  ground  and  they  were  many,  and  those 
who  were  captured  and  they  were  many,  streamed  to  the  northward 
in  a  strange  panic.  They  dashed  from  the  tents  where  they  had  been 
sleeping;  with  the  sleep  yet  in  their  eyes  they  poured  across  the  fields. 
They  left  the  wide  camp,  left  arms,  knapsacks,  clothing,  and  their 
huge  supplies.  They  "possessed  not  even  a  company  organization," 


CEDAR  CREEK  395 

but  crying,  as  the  grey  had  cried,  hereabouts,  a  month  before, 
"Flanked!  We  are  flanked!  "the  Eighth  and  Nineteenth  Corps,  taken 
with  madness,  hurried  northward  by  the  pike  and  by  the  fields.  It 
was  a  rout  that  for  a  time  savoured  of  the  old,  old  First  Manassas 
rout.  The  blue,  as  the  grey,  were  brave  enough,  —  no  one  by  now 
in  this  war  doubted  blue  courage  or  grey  courage,  —  but  to  be 
flanked  at  dawn  was  to  be  flanked  at  dawn,  and  brave  men  or  not 
brave  men,  and  however  often  in  this  war  you  had  outgazed  her, 
smiled  her  from  the  field,  Panic  Fear  was  yet  a  giantess  of  might ! 
Now  or  then,  here  or  there,  in  a  blue  moon,  she  had  her  innings. 

The  Sixth  Corps  on  the  right  stood  fast.  Gordon  proposed  to 
mass  the  grey  artillery  against  it,  then  to  attack  with  infantry.  "  At 
this  moment,"  he  says,  "  General  Early  came  upon  the  field  and 
said,  'Well,  Gordon,  this  is  glory  enough  for  one  day!  This  is  the 
nineteenth.  Precisely  one  month  ago  to-day  we  were  going  in  the 
opposite  direction.'  ...  I  pointed  to  the  Sixth  Corps  and  explained 
the  movements  I  had  ordered,  which  I  felt  sure  would  compass  the 
capture  of  that  corps  —  certainly  its  destruction.  When  I  had  fin 
ished,  he  said,  'No  use  in  that.  They  will  all  go  directly/  *  That  is 
the  Sixth  Corps,  General.  It  will  not  go  unless  we  drive  it  from  the 
field.'  'Yes,  it  will  go,  too,  directly.'" 

Down  went  Gordon's  heart,  down,  down!  "And  so,"  he  says,  "it 
came  to  pass  that  the  fatal  halting,  the  hesitation,  the  spasmodic 
firing  and  the  isolated  movements  in  the  face  of  the  sullen,  slow, 
and  orderly  retreat  of  the  superb  Federal  corps,  lost  us  the  great 
opportunity." 

Jubal  Early  thinks  otherwise  and  says  so.  He  says  that  the  posi 
tion  of  the  Sixth  Corps  was  very  strong  and  not  to  be  attacked  on 
the  left  because  the  approach  was  over  open,  boggy  ground,  swept 
by  the  blue  artillery.  He  did  attack  on  the  right,  but  just  as  Ram- 
seur  and  Pegram  were  advancing  to  occupy  an  evacuated  position, 
the  enemy's  great  force  of  cavalry  began  to  press  heavily  on  the 
right,  and  Pegram  was  sent  to  the  north  of  Middletown  to  take 
position  across  the  pike  and  oppose  this  force.  Kershaw  and  Gor 
don's  commands  were  broken  and  took  time  to  re-form.  Lomax  had 
not  arrived.  Rosser,  on  the  left,  had  all  he  could  do  barely  to  hold 
in  check  the  cloud  of  threatening  cavalry.  The  enemy  had  taken  up 
a  new  position  north  of  Middletown.  Early  now,  the  morning  ad- 


396  CEASE   FIRING 

vancing,  ordered  Gordon,  he  says,  "to  take  position  on  Kershaw's 
left  and  advance  with  the  purpose  of  driving  the  enemy  from  his  new 
position  —  Kershaw  and  Ramseur  being  ordered  to  advance  at  the 
same  time."  He  continues:  "  As  the  enemy's  cavalry  on  our  left  was 
very  strong,  and  had  the  benefit  of  an  open  country  to  the  rear  of 
that  flank,  a  repulse  at  this  time  would  have  been  disastrous,  and  I 
therefore  directed  General  Gordon,  if  he  found  the  enemy's  line  too 
strong  to  attack  with  success,  not  to  make  the  assault.  The  advance 
was  made  for  some  distance,  when  Gordon's  skirmishers  came  back 
reporting  a  line  of  battle  in  front  behind  breastworks,  and  General 
Gordon  did  not  make  the  attack.  It  was  now  apparent  that  it  would 
not  do  to  press  my  troops  farther.  They  had  been  up  all  night 
and  were  much  jaded.  In  passing  over  rough  ground  to  attack  the 
enemy  in  the  early  morning  their  own  ranks  had  been  much  disor 
dered,  and  the  men  scattered,  and  it  required  time  to  re-form  them. 
Their  ranks,  moreover,  were  much  thinned  by  the  absence  of  men 
engaged  in  plundering  the  enemy's  camps.  .  .  .  The  delay  .  .  . 
had  enabled  the  enemy  to  rally  a  portion  of  his  routed  troops,  and 
his  immense  force  of  cavalry,  which  remained  intact,  was  threaten 
ing  both  of  our  flanks  in  an  open  country,  which  of  itself  rendered 
an  advance  extremely  hazardous.  I  determined,  therefore,  to  try 
and  hold  what  had  been  gained." 

Now  Gordon  was  a  generous,  chivalrous,  bold,  and  devoted  soldier. 
And  Jubal  Early  was  a  bold  and  devoted  man  and  a  general  of  no 
mean  ability.  Which  was  right  and  which  was  wrong,  or  how  largely 
both  were  right,  will,  perhaps,  be  never  known.  But  hard  upon 
Early's  slur  upon  the  conduct  of  the  troops,  his  repeated  statement 
that  they  were  too  busy  plundering  to  go  forward,  there  comes  an 
indignant  cry  of  denial.  Says  Clement  Evans,  "My  command  was 
not  straggling  and  plundering."  And  General  Battle,  "I  never  saw 
troops  behave  better  than  ours  did  at  Cedar  Creek."  And  General 
Wharton,  "It  is  true  that  there  were  parties  passing  over  the  field 
and  perhaps  pillaging,  but  most  of  these  were  citizens,  teamsters, 
and  persons  attached  to  the  quartermaster's  and  other  departments, 
and  perhaps  a  few  soldiers  who  had  taken  the  wounded  to  the  rear. 
No,  General;  the  disaster  was  not  due  to  the  soldiers  leaving  their 
commands  and  pillaging."  And  another  officer,  "The  men  went 
through  a  camp  just  as  it  was  deserted,  with  hats,  boots,  blankets, 


CEDAR   CREEK  397 

tents,  and  such  things  as  tempt  our  soldiers  scattered  over  it,  and 
after  diligent  enquiry  I  heard  of  but  one  man  who  even  stopped 
to  pick  up  a  thing.  He  got  a  hat  and  has  charges  preferred  against 
him."  And  one  of  the  grey  chaplains,  who  says  that  he  was  a  free 
lance  that  day,  and  all  over  the  field  from  rear  to  front,  "It  is  true 
that  many  men  straggled  and  plundered;  but  they  were  men  who  in 
large  numbers  had  been  wounded  in  the  summer's  campaign,  who 
had  come  up  to  the  army  for  medical  examination,  and  who  came 
like  a  division  down  the  pike  behind  Wharton,  and  soon  scattered 
over  the  field  and  camps  and  helped  themselves.  They  were  soldiers 
more  or  less  disabled  and  not  on  duty.  This  body  I  myself  saw  as  they 
came  on  the  battle-field  and  scattered.  They  were  not  men  with  guns. 
But  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  General  Early  mistook  them  for  men 
who  had  fallen  out  of  ranks."  And  Gordon,  "  Many  of  the  dead  com 
manders  left  on  record  their  testimony;  and  it  is  true,  I  think,  that 
every  living  Confederate  officer  who  commanded  at  Cedar  Creek  a 
corps,  or  division,  or  brigade,  or  regiment,  or  company  would  testify 
that  his  men  fought  with  unabated  ardour,  and  did  not  abandon 
their  places  in  line  to  plunder  the  captured  camps." 

So  the  Army  of  the  Valley  that  is  about  to  go  down  to  defeat  need 
not  go  there  with  any  imputation  of  misconduct.  Let  us  say  instead 
that  it  continued  to  do  well. 

And  now  it  stands  there  waiting  for  orders  to  advance,  for  orders 
to  go  into  battle,  to  engage  the  Sixth  Corps,  and  now  the  day  is 
growing  old,  and  now  Crook  and  Wright,  far  down  the  Valley  Pike, 
begin  to  check  the  fleeing  masses  of  the  Eighth  and  Nineteenth,  to 
bring  them  into  something  more  than  company  organization,  and 
to  force  them  to  listen  to  talk  of  going  back  and  retrieving  .  .  . 
and  now  news  comes  to  Sheridan  himself  who  had  slept  the  night  of 
the  eighteenth  in  Winchester. 

As  he  mounted  his  horse  there  came  a  confused  rumour  of  dis 
aster;  as,  a  hard  rider,  he  thundered  out  of  Winchester  with  twenty 
miles  to  make,  the  wind  brought  him  faintly  the  din  of  distant 
battle.  He  bent  to  the  horse's  neck  and  used  the  spur.  About  nine 
o'clock,  south  of  Winchester,  "the  head  of  the  fugitives  appeared  in 
sight,  trains  and  men  coming  to  the  rear  with  appalling  rapidity." 
His  followers  did  what  they  could  to  stop  the  torrent ;  he  galloped  on. 

The  day  wore  away,  the  grey  under  arms,  but  inactive,  waiting 


398  CEASE  FIRING 

—  waiting.  Upon  the  top  of  Massanutten,  in  a  wine-hued  world 
above  the  smoke  and  clamour,  was  a  grey  signal  station,  and  it  sig 
nalled  the  Army  of  the  Valley  below.  It  signalled  first,  "The  enemy 
has  halted  and  is  re-forming."  It  signalled  second,  "They  are  coming 
back  by  the  pike  and  neighbouring  roads."  It  signalled  third,  "The 
enemy's  cavalry  has  checked  General  Rosser,  and  assumed  the  offen 
sive."  It  signalled  fourth,  "The  enemy,  in  heavy  column,  is  coming 
up  the  pike." 

The  rallied  Eighth  and  Nineteenth  Corps,  Sheridan  at  their  head, 
came  back  and  joined  the  steadfast  Sixth.  Together  they  gave  battle 
to  the  grey  who  had  waited  for  this  strange  hour.  In  it  the  tables 
were  turned.  Command  after  command,  the  grey  were  broken. 
There  was  a  gap  in  the  line,  left  who  knew  how?  Through  it  like  a 
river  in  freshet  roared  the  blue. 

It  beat  upon  Steve's  brain  like  waves  of  hell,  that  battle.  The 
Sixty-fifth  had  held  him  like  a  vise ;  not  for  one  moment  had  he  es 
caped.  In  the  midst  of  plenty  he  was  not  let  to  plunder;  in  the  face 
of  danger  he  was  not  somehow  able  to  fall  out,  to  straggle,  or  to 
malinger.  All  his  talents  seemed  to  desert  him.  Perhaps  Dave  May- 
dew  had  him  really  under  observation,  or  perhaps  he  only  fancied 
that  that  was  the  case.  He  was  afraid  of  Dave.  Through  the  fore 
noon,  indeed,  hope  sustained  him.  The  Yankees  had  run  away,  and 
though  the  Golden  Brigade  with  others  shifted  its  place,  moving 
from  left  to  right,  and  though,  beside  the  first  great  onset,  it  came 
sharply  several  times  into  touch  with  the  foe,  it,  too,  under  division 
orders,  must  end  in  waiting,  waiting.  Steve  was  convinced  that  the 
Yankees  were  too  frightened  to  come  back,  and  that  presently  there 
would  be  broken  ranks  and  permission  to  the  men  to  help  themselves 
in  moderation.  The  hope  kept  him  cheerful,  despite  the  grumbling 
of  the  Sixty-fifth.  "  Why  don't  we  go  forward  ?  What  are  we  wait 
ing  here  for?  We  're  losing  time> —  and  losing  it  to  them.  Why  don't 
we  —  What  are  they  signalling  up  there  on  the  mountain?  "  —  And 
then  burst  the  storm  and  hope  went  out. 

The  lantern  slides  shifted  rapidly  —  now  black,  now  fearful,  vivid 
pictures.  For  what  seemed  an  eternity  Steve  did  tear  cartridges, 
load  and  fire  with  desperation.  A  black  ring  came  round  his  mouth; 
the  sweat  poured  down,  his  chest  heaved  beneath  his  ragged  shirt. 
Fire  I  —  Fire  I  —  Fire  !  —  Fire  I  And  all  to  right  and  left  was  the 


CEDAR   CREEK  399 

Sixty-fifth,  fighting  grimly,  and  beyond,  the  balance  of  the  Golden 
Brigade,  fighting  grimly.  He  saw  Dave  Maydew  sink  to  his  knees, 
and  then  forward  upon  his  hands,  and  at  last  roll  over  and  lie  dead 
with  a  quiet  face.  He  saw  Sergeant  Billy  Maydew,  passing  down  the 
line,  pause  just  a  moment  when  he  saw  Dave.  "I  reckon  I'll  be 
coming,  too,  directly,  Dave,"  said  Billy,  then  went  on  with  his  duty. 
He  saw  Allan,  tall  and  strong  and  fair,  set  in  a  great  smoke  wreath 
firing  steadily.  Fire  !  —  Fire  !  —  Fire  1  —  Fire  I  There  rose  a  ques 
tion  of  ammunition.  Jim  Watts  was  one  of  those  who  went  for  cart 
ridges  and  brought  them  while  the  air  was  a  shriek  of  shells.  Steve 
saw  the  cartridge-bearers  askance,  coming,  earnest-faced,  through 
the  cloud  —  then  the  cloud  grew  red-bosomed,  and  he  saw  them 
no  more.  He  heard  a  voice,  "  Fix  bayonets  1 "  and  he  saw  Cleave,  dis 
mounted,  leading  the  charge.  He  went  with  the  Sixty-fifth;  he  could 
not  help  it;  he  had  in  effect  run  amuck.  He  felt  the  uneven  ground 
beneath  his  feet  like  a  rhythm,  and  the  shrieking  of  the  minies  became, 
for  the  first  and  only  time  in  his  life,  a  sireri's  song.  Then  through 
the  smoke  came  a  loom  of  forms;  he  saw  the  blue  cavalry  bearing 
down,  many  and  fast.  Halt! — Left  Face  I  Fire! — but  on  they  came, 
for  all  the  emptied  saddles.  A  thousand  cymbals  clashed  in  the  air, 
a  thousand  forms,  gigantic  in  the  reek,  towered  before  the  vision; 
there  came  a  chaos  of  voices,  appalled  or  triumphant,  a  frightful 
heat,  a  pressure,  a  roaring  in  the  brain.  Steve  saw  Richard  Cleave 
where  he  fell,  desperately  wounded,  he  saw  the  Golden  Brigade,  he 
saw  the  Sixty-fifth  Virginia  broken  and  dashed  to  pieces.  With  the 
cry  of  a  Thunder  Run  creature  in  a  trap,  he  caught  at  the  reins  of 
the  horse  that  reared  above  him,  red-nostrilled,  with  eyes  of  fire.  Its 
rider,  a  tall  and  powerful  man  with  yellow  mustaches,  bending  side 
ways,  cut  at  him  with  a  sabre.  Steve,  a  gash  across  each  arm,  dropped 
the  bridle.  The  horse's  hoof  struck  him  on  the  forehead,  and  the 
world  went  down  in  a  black  and  roaring  sea. 

When  he  came  to  himself  it  was  dark.  The  smoke  hung  heavy 
and  there  was  the  taste  and  scent  of  the  battle-field.  At  first  there 
seemed  no  noise,  then  he  heard  the  groaning  and  the  sighing. 
The  greater  noise,  the  thunder  and  shouting,  had,  however,  rolled 
away.  He  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  and  then  he  sat  up  and 
rested  his  head  on  his  knees.  He  was  deadly  sick  and  shivering.  As 
little  by  little  his  wits  came  back,  he  began  to  draw  conclusions. 


400  CEASE   FIRING 

There  had  been  a  battle  —  now  he  remembered  —  and  the  army 
was  beaten.  ...  He  listened  now  in  reality  and  he  heard,  far  up 
the  pike  and  across  the  fields,  in  the  darkness,  the  sound  of  retreat 
and  pursuit.  It  made  a  wall  of  sound,  stretching  east  and  west,  roll 
ing  southward,  going  farther  and  farther  away,  dwindling  at  last 
into  a  hollow  murmur,  leaving  behind  it  the  bitter,  pungent  night, 
and  the  sounds  as  near  at  hand  as  crickets  in  the  grass.  Water  — 
water  —  water  —  water  .  .  .  O  God  !  —  0  God  !  —  0  God  ! 

Steve  rose  uncertainly.  His  tongue,  too,  was  swollen  with  thirst. 
He  saw  lights  wavering  over  the  field,  and  here  and  there  a  flare 
where  camp  followers  had  built  themselves  a  fire.  There  reached  his 
ears  a  burst  of  harsh  laughter,  then  from  some  quarter  where  there 
was  pillaging  a  drunken  quarrel.  The  regularly  moving  lights  were, 
he  knew,  gatherers  of  the  wounded.  A  shrill  crying  from  a  hollow 
where  was  a  red  glare  proclaimed  a  field  hospital.  But  the  gather 
ers  of  the  wounded  were  clothed  in  blue.  They  would  touch  no  grey 
wounded  until  their  own  were  served,  and  then,  if  events  allowed 
them  to  minister,  they  would  prove  but  lifters  and  forwarders  to 
Northern  prisons.  Steve,  swaying  as  he  stood,  stared  at  the  bob 
bing  lights.  He  was  dead  from  hunger,  tortured  with  thirst,  and  his 
head  ached  and  ached  from  the  blow  of  the  horse's  hoof.  A  thought 
came  to  him.  If  he  told  the  bobbing  lights  that  he  loved  the  North 
and  would  fight  for  it  in  a  blue  coat,  then,  maybe,  things  would 
happen  like  a  full  canteen  and  a  handful  of  hard-tack  and  a  long 
and  safe  sleep  beside  one  of  those  camp-fires.  He  started  toward 
the  lights.  Water  !  —  Water  I  —  Water !  —  Water  !  cried  the  plain. 
Ahhhh!  Aaahhh!  Water! 

Somewhere  out  of  starveling  and  poor  soil  there  pushed  upward 
in  the  soul  of  Steve,  came  into  a  murky  and  muddy  light,  and  there 
flowered,  though  after  a  tarnished  and  niggard  sort,  a  something 
that  first  stayed  his  steps,  then  turned  them  away  from  the  bobbing 
lights.  It  was  not  a  strong  growth,  but  the  flower  of  it  rubbed  his 
eyes  so  that  he  saw  Thunder  Run  rather  than  Northern  plenty,  and 
the  haggard,  fleeing  grey  army  rather  than  a  turned  coat.  He  did 
not  feel  virtuous  as  he  had  done  when  he  saved  the  army  from  the 
"avalanche,"  he  only  felt  homesick  and  wretched  and  horribly  suf 
fering.  When  at  a  few  paces  he  came  to  a  deep  gully  and  slipped  and 
slid  down  its  side  to  the  bottom,  where  he  was  safe  from  the  lights 


CEDAR   CREEK  401 

and  from  the  thrust  of  some  plunderer  of  the  dead, — or  the  wounded 
whom  they  often,  as  safest,  made  the  dead, — he  found  here 
beside  him  his  old  companion,  Fear.  Before  this,  on  the  day  of  Cedar 
Creek,  from  dawn  to  dusk,  he  had  hardly  once  been  afraid.  Now  he 
was  —  he  was  horribly  afraid.  There  was  long  grass  at  the  bottom  of 
the  gully,  and  he  hoped  for  a  runlet  of  some  sort.  He  dragged  himself 
along,  hands  and  breast,  until  he  felt  mud,  and  then  more  and  more 
moisture,  until  at  last  there  came  a  puddle  out  of  which  he  drank 
and  drank  as  though  he  would  never  stop.  It  was  too  dark  to  see 
how  bloody  it  was,  and  not  even  after  moving  his  arm  a  little  to  the 
left  and  encountering  the  body  of  a  soldier,  did  he  cease  to  drink. 
His  own  arms  were  yet  bleeding  from  the  sabre  cut  and  he  was  so 
dizzy  that  even  here,  with  the  lanterns  all  left  behind,  there  were 
lights  in  the  night  like  will-o'-the-wisps. 

But  the  water,  such  as  it  was,  put  some  spirit  into  him.  Hands 
and  knees,  he  crept  down  the  floor  of  the  gully  until  it  deepened  and 
widened  into  a  ravine.  Finally  it  led  him  to  the  creek  side.  Here, 
half  in,  half  out  of  the  water,  was  something  that  he  put  his  foot 
upon  for  a  log,  but  discovered  to  be  the  body  of  a  man.  Having  rea 
soned  that  in  this  locality  it  would  not  improbably  be  the  body  of  a 
blue  vedette,  Steve  took  it  by  the  legs  and  drew  it  quite  out  upon 
the  miry  bank.  He  was  correct,  and  there  was  a  haversack,  and  in 
it  bread  and  slices  of  meat.  Steve,  squatting  in  the  mire,  ate  it  all, 
then  drank  of  the  creek.  He  was  dead  for  sleep ;  there  had  been  none 
the  night  before,  clambering  along  the  face  of  Massanutten,  and  not 
too  much  the  night  before  that;  dead  for  sleep,  and  more  tired  than 
any  dog.  ...  He  stood  up,  gazing  haggardly  into  the  night  beyond 
the  creek,  then  shook  his  head,  and  dropped  upon  the  soft  earth 
beside  the  dead  vedette.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  hardly  closed 
his  eyes  when  he  heard  a  bugle  and  then  the  sound  of  trotting  horse. 
"Cavalry  comin'  this  way  —  Damn  them  to  hell!"  He  staggered 
to  his  feet  and  down  into  the  stream,  crossed  it  somehow,  and  went 
up  the  farther  bank,  and  on  through  forest  and  field,  over  stock  and 
stone.  He  went  away  from  the  pike.  "For  I  never  want  to  see  it 
again.  It'sha'nted." 

He  went  westward  toward  the  mountains,  and  he  walked  all  night 
over  stock  and  stone  and  briar.  Day  broke,  wan  and  sickly.  It 
showed  him  a  rough  country,  rising  steeply  to  the  wilder  mountains, 


402  CEASE  FIRING 

rough  and  so  sparsely  inhabited  that  he  did  not  see  a  house.  He 
went  on,  swaying  now  in  his  gait,  and  presently  by  the  rising  sun 
he  saw  a  sloping  field,  ragged  and  stony  and  covered  with  a  poor 
stand  of  corn,  and  at  the  top  a  fairish  log  cabin  set  against  a  pine 
wood.  A  curl  of  smoke  was  coming  from  the  chimney. 

Steve  stumbled  up  the  hillside  and  through  a  garden  path  to  a 
crazy  porch  overhung  by  a  gourd  vine.  Here  a  lean  mountain  woman 
met  him.  "  Better  be  keerful ! "  she  said.  "The  dawg  's  awful  fierce  I 
Here,  dawg!" 

The  dog  came,  bristling.  Steve  retreated  a  few  steps.  "I  ain't 
nothin'  but  a  poor  Confederate  soldier!  —  'n'  I  'm  jest  about  dead  for 
hunger  'n'  tiredness.  There's  been  an  awful  big  battle  'n'  I  got  my 
wounds.  If  you'd  jest  let  me  rest  a  bit  here,  ma'am,  'n',  for  God's 
sake,  give  me  somethin'  to  eat  — " 

"Well,"  said  the  woman,  "you  kin  rest,  an'  then  you  kin  pay  by 
helpin'  me  stack  the  corn.  My  husband  was  killed  over  in  Hamp 
shire,  bushwhackin',  an'  the  dawg  an'  I  an'  a  gun  air  livin'  together." 

Steve  slept  all  day  in  the  lean-to,  beneath  a  quilt  of  bright  patch 
work.  He  had  cornbread  and  a  chicken  for  supper,  and  then  he 
wrapped  himself  luxuriously  in  the  quilt  again  and  slept  all  night. 
The  next  day  he  helped  the  mountain  woman  stack  the  corn. 

"  You  live  so  out  of  the  way,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  reckon  Sheridan  '11 
never  come  burnin'  'n'  slayin'  up  here !  You  got  chickens  'n'  a  cow  'n* 
the  fat  of  the  land." 

"It  air  a  peaceful  mountain,"  agreed  the  woman.  "I  ain't  never 
seen  a  Yankee  an'  I  don't  know  as  I  want  to.  Thar's  a  feud  on  be 
tween  the  folks  in  the  Cove  an'  the  folks  on  Deer  Mountain,  but  my 
husband  was  a  Hampshire  man,  an'  I'm  out  of  it.  Don't  nobody 
give  me  any  trouble  an'  I  get  along.  Yaas,  the  cow 's  a  good  milker 
an'  I  got  a  pig  an'  plenty  of  chickens." 

"Don't  you  get  lonesome,  livin'  this  way  by  yourself  —  'n'  you  a 
fine-lookin'  woman,  too?" 

"Am  I  fine-lookin'  ?  "  said  the  mountain  woman.  "I  never  knew 
that  before." 

They  stacked  the  corn  all  day,  and  at  dark  Steve  had  another 
chicken  and  more  cornbread  and  an  egg  for  supper. 

"Tell  me  about  your  folks,"  said  the  woman,  "  an'  how  life 's  done 
you,  an'  about  soldiering." 


CEDAR  CREEK 


403 


They  sat  on  either  side  of  the  hearth,  for  the  night  was  cold,  and 
while  the  hickory  log  blazed,  and  the  mountain  woman  used  snufi, 
Steve  indulged  in  a  rhodomontade  that  did  him  credit. 

"  But  I  ain't  sure  I  '11  go  soldierin'  any  more,"  he  closed.  "  Savin7 
the  army  V  all's  enough.  I  got  a  honourable  discharge." 

The  mountain  woman  dipped  a  bit  of  hazel  twig  again  into  the 
small  round  tin  box  of  snuff.  She  was  not  much  older  than  Steve, 
and,  in  a  gaunt  way,  not  bad-looking.  "An'  you  ain't  married?" 

"  Naw.  I  ain't  never  found  any  one  to  suit  me  —  at  least,  till 
recently  I  thought  I  had  n't." 

In  the  lean-to,  when  he  had  rolled  himself  in  the  rising-sun  quilt, 
he  lay  and  looked  out  of  the  open  door  at  the  stars  below  the  hilltop. 
"The  army's  beaten,"  he  thought,  "V  the  war's  ended,  or  most 
ended.  Anyhow  it 's  fightin'  now  without  any  chance  of  anything  but 
dyin'."  He  sat  up  and  rested  his  chin  on  his  knees.  "I  ain't  ready 
to  die  ...  Sheridan  's  drivin'  the  Second  Corps,  'n'  the  Sixty- 
fifth  's  all  cut  to  pieces  'n'  melted  away,  'n'  Grant's  batterin'  down 
Petersburg  'n'  gettin'  ready  to  fall  on  Richmond.  We're  beaten,  'n' 
I  know  it,  'n'  I  ain't  a-goin'  back;  'n'  I  ain't  a-goin'  back  to  Thunder 
Run  neither  —  not  yet  awhile!  An'  she's  strong  'n'  a  good  worker, 
'n'  she 's  got  property,  'n'  I  Ve  seen  a  plenty  worse-lookin'.  Lucinda 
Heard  was  worse-lookin'." 

The  next  day  they  gathered  apples,  for  the  mountain  woman  said 
she  would  make  apple  butter.  It  was  beautiful  weather,  mild  and 
bright.  Steve  lay  on  the  porch  beneath  the  gourd  vine  and  watched 
his  hostess  hang  the  kettle  over  the  outdoor  fire  and  bring  water  in 
a  bucket  from  the  spring  and  fill  it.  While  the  fire  was  burning  she 
came  and  sat  down  on  the  porch  edge.  "  When  air  you  goin'  away?  " 

Steve  grinned  propitiatively.  "Gawd  knows  I  don't  want  to 
go  away  at  all!  I  like  it  here  fust-rate.  —  You  ain't  never  told  me 
your  name  ?  " 

"Myname'sCyrilla." 

"That's  an  awful  pretty  name,"  said  Steve.  "It's  prettier  'n 
Christianna,  'n'  Lucinda,  'n'  a  lot  others  I've  heard." 

After  supper  they  sat  again  on  either  side  of  the  hearth,  with  a 
blazing  hickory  log  between,  and  the  mountain  woman  dipped  snuff 
and  Steve  nursed  his  ankle. 

"It's  this-a-way,"  he  remarked  after  a  silence  in  which  the  crick- 


404  CEASE   FIRING 

ets  chirped.  "I've  kind  of  thought  it  out.  War  kills  men  off  right 
along.  When  they  're  brave  they  get  killed  all  the  quicker,  or  they 
just  get  off  by  the  skin  of  their  teeth  like  I  done.  No  matter  how 
strong,  V  brave,  'n'  enterprisin',  'n'  volunterin'  they  are,  they 
get  killed,  'n'  killed.  Killed  off  jest  the  same 's  the  bees  sting  the  best 
fruit.  'N'  then  what  becomes  of  the  country?  It  ain't  populated 
'less  'n  the  rest  of  us  —  them  that  got  off  by  the  skin  of  their  teeth 
like  I  did,  'n'  them  that  ain't  never  gone  in  like  some  bomb-proofs 
I  know  —  'less  'n  the  rest  of  us  acts  our  part !  That 's  what  war  does. 
It  'liminates  the  kind  that  pushes  to  the  front  'n'  plants  flags.  'N' 
then  —  as  Living  don't  intend  to  drop  off  —  what's  the  rest  of  us 
that 's  left  got  to  be?  We  got  to  be  what  I  heard  a  preacher  call '  seed- 
corn  'n'  ancestors.'  We  got  to  marry  'n'  people  the  earth.  W'e 
ain't  killed. ' '  Steve  ceased  to  nurse  his  ankle,  straightened  his  lean  red 
body,  and  widening  his  lips  until  his  lean  red  jaws  wrinkled,  turned 
to  his  hostess.  "Cyrilla.  —  That's  a  mighty  pretty  name.  .  .  . 
Why  should  n't  you  'n'  me  marry?  You  got  a  house  'n'  I  got  a  house, 
over  in  Blue  Ridge  on  Thunder  Run  Mountain,  'n'  I  got  a  little  real 
money,  too!  When  the  war's  over  we  can  go  get  it.  —  What  d'  ye 
say?" 

Cyrilla  screwed  on  the  top  of  the  snuff-box.  "I  been  right  lone 
some,"  she  admitted.  "But  ef  I  marry  you,  you  got  to  promise  not 
to  go  bushwhackin' !  You  got  to  stay  safe  at  home,  'n'  you  got  to  do 
what  I  tell  you.  I  ain't  goin'  to  have  two  husbands  killed  fightin* 
Yankees." 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

THE   ARMY   OF   TENNESSEE 

ON  August  the  thirty-first  Hood  fought  and  lost  the  battle  of 
Jonesboro.  On  September  the  first  he  evacuated  Atlanta, 
besieged  now  for  forty  days,  bombarded  and  wrecked  and 
ruined.  On  the  second,  with  hurrahing,  with  music  of  bands  and 
waving  of  flags,  Sherman  occupied  the  forlorn  and  shattered  place. 

Forty  thousand  men,  Hood  and  the  Army  of  Tennessee  lingered 
a  full  month  in  this  region  of  Georgia,  first  around  Lovejoy's 
Station,  then  at  Palmetto.  On  the  first  of  October  they  crossed  the 
Chattahoochee.  Four  days  later  was  fought  the  engagement  of 
Allatoona.  On  northward  went  Hood  over  the  old  route  that  had 
been  travelled  —  though  in  an  opposite  direction  —  in  the  spring 
and  the  early  summer-time.  Toward  the  middle  of  the  month  he 
was  at  Resaca,  and  a  day  or  two  after  he  captured  a  small  garrison 
at  Dalton.  Behind  him  came,  fast  and  furious,  a  blue  host.  He 
made  a  forced  march  west  to  Gadsden  on  the  Coosa.  He  was  now 
in  Alabama  and  presently  he  marched  past  Decatur  to  Florence 
on  the  Tennessee.  Sherman  sent  by  rail  Schofield  and  two  army 
corps  to  Nashville,  where  was  already  George  Thomas  and  his 
corps.  The  blue  commanding  general  had  now  sixty  thousand  men 
in  Tennessee,  and  sixty  thousand  in  Georgia.  To  oppose  these  last 
there  was  left  Wheeler's  cavalry  and  Cobb's  Georgia  State  troops. 
On  the  last  day  of  October  Hood  crossed  into  Tennessee.  Before 
him  and  his  army  lay  now  the  thirtieth  of  November  and  the  fif 
teenth  and  sixteenth  of  December  —  lay  the  most  disastrous  battles 
of  Franklin  and  Nashville. 

About  the  middle  of  September  Sherman  evicted  the  inhabitants 
of  Atlanta.  "I  take  the  ground,"  he  states  upon  the  occasion,  with 
the  frankness  that  was  an  engaging  trait  in  his  character,  "I  take 
the  ground  that  Atlanta  is  a  conquered  place,  and  I  propose  to 
use  it  purely  for  our  own  military  purposes,  which  are  inconsistent 
with  its  inhabitation  by  the  families  of  a  brave  people.  I  am  ship- 


4o6  CEASE   FIRING 

ping  them  all,  and  by  next  Wednesday  the  town  will  be  a  real  mil 
itary  town,  with  no  women  boring  me  every  order  I  give." 

In  mid-November,  quitting  the  place,  he  burned  it  before  he  went. 
" Behind  us,"  he  remarks,  "lay  Atlanta,  smouldering ^and  in  ruins, 
the  black  smoke  rising  high  in  air  and  hanging  like  a  pall  over  the 
ruined  city.  .  .  .  The  men  are  marching  steadily  and  rapidly  with 
a  cheery  look  and  a  swinging  pace." 

Of  his  March  to  the  Sea  upon  which  he  was  now  entered,  he  says, 
"Had  General  Grant  overwhelmed  and  scattered  Lee's  Army  and 
occupied  Richmond  he  would  have  come  to  Atlanta;  but  as  I  hap 
pened  to  occupy  Atlanta  first,  and  had  driven  Hood  off  to  a  diverg 
ent  line  of  operations  far  to  the  west,  it  was  good  strategy  to  leave 
him  to  a  subordinate  force  and  with  my  main  army  join  Grant  at 
Richmond.  The  most  practicable  route  to  Richmond  was  nearly  a 
thousand  miles  in  distance,  too  long  for  a  single  march;  hence  the 
necessity  to  reach  the  seacoast  for  a  new  base.  Savannah,  distant 
three  hundred  miles,  was  the  nearest  point,  and  this  distance  we 
accomplished  from  November  i2th  to  December  2ist."  And  he 
telegraphs  to  Grant  that  he  will  send  back  all  his  wounded  and 
worthless  and,  with  his  effective  army,  "move  through  Georgia, 
smashing  things  to  the  sea."  He  kept  his  word.  They  were  thor 
oughly  smashed. 

The  men,  marching  "with  a  cheery  look  and  a  steady  pace"  list 
ened  to  a  General  Order  directing  them  to  "forage  liberally  on  the 
country,"  and  "generally  to  so  damage  the  country  as  to  make  it 
untenable  to  the  enemy."  They  obeyed  and  made  it  untenable  to 
all,  including  women  and  children,  the  sick  and  the  old.  They  heard 
that  their  commander  meant  "  to  make  Georgia  howl,"  and  they  did 
what  they  could  to  further  his  wish.  He  states  indeed  —  in  a  letter 
to  his  wife  —  that  "this  universal  burning  and  wanton  destruction 
of  private  property  is  not  justified  in  war,"  and  "I  know  all  the  prin 
cipal  officers  detest  the  infamous  practice  as  much  as  I  do,"  but  the 
practice  went  on  —  and  he  was  commander.  He  left  behind  him, 
from  north  to  south  of  a  great  State  a  swathe  of  misery,  horror,  and 
destruction  fifty  miles  wide.  There  were  good  and  gallant  men  in  his 
legions,  good  and  gallant  men  by  the  thousand,  but  "Sherman's 
bummers  "  went  unchecked,  and  so  far  as  is  known,  unrebuked.  The 
swathe  was  undeniably  there,  and  the  insult  and  the  agony  and 


THE  ARMY   OF   TENNESSEE          407 

the  horror.  Georgia  was  "made  to  howl."     "War  is  Hell,"  said 
Sherman,  and  is  qualified  to  know  whereof  he  speaks. 

In  the  mean  time  Hood  had  crossed  the  Tennessee  in  chilly,  snowy 
weather  and  was  moving  northward.  The  snow  did  not  hold.  The 
weather  cleared  and  there  came  a  season  as  of  an  autumnal  after 
glow.  The  sun  shone  bright  though  all  the  trees  were  bare.  Forrest, 
recalled  in  this  month  from  Mississippi,  rode  ahead  of  the  army, 
then  came  the  corps  of  Stephen  D.  Lee,  —  Hood's  old  corps,  —  of 
A.  P.  Stewart,  and  of  Cheatham.  The  last  was  Hardee's  old  corps. 
Hardee  himself,  irreconcilably  opposed  to  Hood  and  asking  for 
transferral,  had  been  sent  to  take  command  of  the  Department  of 
South  Carolina,  Georgia,  and  Florida.  Something  more  than  forty 
thousand  men,  cavalry,  infantry,  and  artillery,  the  Army  of  Tenn 
essee  pursued  the  late  November  road.  It  was  a  haggard  and 
depleted  army,  but  it  could  and  did  fight  very  grimly. 

Lawrenceburg  —  Mt.  Pleasant  —  Columbia  —  and  then  the  Duck 
River  to  cross.  The  night  of  the  twenty-eighth  the  engineers  laid 
the  pontoon  bridge.  At  dawn  of  the  twenty-ninth  the  Army  began 
to  cross  —  slow  work  as  always  and  masses  of  men  waiting  their 
turn  around  fires  on  the  river  bank.  "  Fire  feels  good !  Autumn  dies 
cold  like  everything  else.  Wish  I  had  a  cup  of  coffee."  —  "Last 
time  I  had  a  cup  of  coffee  — "  —  "O  go  to  h  — !  We've  heard  that 
story  before!  Somebody  tell  a  good  story.  J.  H.  you  tell  a  story! 
Tell  about  the  mule  and  the  darkey  and  the  bag  of  sugar  — " 

Down  to  the  water  and  over  the  pontoon  bridge  in  the  wintry 
dawn  went  the  companies  and  the  regiments.  The  fires  on  the  bank 
blazed  high,  the  soldiers  talked.  "A  year  ago  was  Missionary 
Ridge."  —  " Missionary  Ridge ! "  —  "  Missionary  Ridge ! "  —  "  Mis 
sionary  Ridge  was  the  place  good  missionaries  never  go  to ! "  —  "  We 
ran  hard  in  hell,  but  we  fought  hard  in  hell,  too.  Fought  hard  — 
fought  hard  —  "  "  Up  on  Lookout,  and  Cleburne  holding  the  hollow 
ground  —  D'  ye  remember  how  the  moon  was  sick  that  night  ?  " 
"A  year  ago!  It  was  awful  long  when  you  were  little  from  Christ 
mas  to  Christmas  —  but  the  length  of  a  year  nowadays  is  some 
thing  awful!  "  —  "That's  so!  It's  always  long  when  so  much  hap 
pens.  I've  seen  men  grow  old  from  Missionary  Ridge  to  Atlanta. 
I  Ve  seen  men  grow  old  from  Atlanta  to  —  what 's  the  biggish 
place  across  the  river?  Franklin  ?  — Franklin,  Tennessee." 


4o8  CEASE   FIRING 

The  light  grew  stronger  —  a  winter  light,  cold  and  steel-like  upon 
the  flowing  river  and  the  moving  stream  of  men.  Fall  in !  Fall  in  I 
cried  the  sergeants,  and  the  men  about  the  fires  left  the  red  warmth, 

and  stood  in  ranks  waiting  to  move  down  to  the  water.  " ! 

These  crossings  of  rivers! !  Seeing  that  men  have  always 

warred  and  I  reckon  are  always  going  to  war,  I  don't  see  why  Na 
ture  and  God  —  if  Nature  's  got  a  god  —  did  n't  make  the  earth  a 
smooth  round  battlefield  where  enemies  could  clinch  just  as  easy 
and  keep  clinched  till  one  or  the  other  went  over  the  edge  of  all 
things,  and  went  down,  down,  past  whatever  stars  were  on  that  side! 
What's  the  use  of  scooping  rivers  and  heaping  mountains  in  the 
way  ?  Just  a  nice,  smooth,  black,  eternal  plain  —  with  maybe  one 
wide  river  to  carry  the  blood  away  — " 

The  soldiers,  breaking  step,  crossed  and  crossed  by  the  pontoon 
bridge.  "The  Duck  River!  —  Quack!  quack!  —  Franklin's  on  the 
Harpeth."  "Benjamin  Franklin  or  Franklin  Pierce?"  —  "Benja 
min  was  a  peaceful  kind  of  fellow  for  a  revolutionary  —  did  n't  be 
lieve  in  war!  Neither  did  Jefferson.  Not  on  general  principles. 
Thought  it  barbarous.  Fought  on  necessity,  but  believed  in  making 
necessity  occur  more  rarely.  Perfectly  feasible  thing!  Necessity's 
much  more  malleable  than  we  think.  When  we  don't  want  it  war 
won't  be  necessary."  —  "Want  it!  Do  you  reckon  any  one  wants 
it  ?"  —  "Lord,  yes!  until  they've  got  it.  —  Of  course  there's  some 
that  likes  it  even  after  they've  got  it  —  but  they're  getting  scarce." 
—  "I  don't  know.  Sometimes  it's  necessary,  and  sometimes  it's 
good  fun."  —  "Yes.  A  hard  necessity  and  a  savage  pastime. 
'Patriotism '?  There 's  a  bigger  phrase  —  '  Mother  Earth  and  Fellow 
Men.' "  —  Column  forward  ! 

On  through  the  leafless  country  marched  the  somewhat  tattered, 
somewhat  shoeless  Army  of  Tennessee.  Tramp  of  feet  and  roll  of 
wheels,  tramp  of  feet  and  roll  of  wheels  .  .  .  "Listen!  Firing  ahead! 
That's  Forrest!"  The  marching  Army  took  up  the  praise  of  For 
rest.  "  Forrest !  Forrest 's  like  Stonewall  Jackson  —  always  in  front 
making  personal  observations."  —  "Forrest!  If  I  was  a  company 
in  trouble  I'd  rather  see  Forrest  coming  on  King  Phillip  than  King 
Arthur  or  the  Angel  Gabriel ! "  —  "  Forrest !  Did  you  ever  see  Forrest 
rally  his  men?  Draws  a  pistol  and  shoots  a  retreating  colour- 
bearer  —  takes  the  colours  and  says  '  Come  on ! '"  —  "Forrest 's  had 


THE  ARMY  OF  TENNESSEE         409 

twenty-five  horses  killed  under  him."  —  "  Did  you  ever  hear  him  ad 
dress  his  men?  He's  an  orator  born.  It  gets  to  be  music.  It  gets 
grammatical  —  it  gets  to  be  great  sonorous  poetry."  —  "Yes,  it 
does.  I've  heard  him.  And  then  an  hour  after  I 've  heard  him  tell 
an  officer  'Yes,  that  mought  do '  and  'It's  got  to  be  fit.'  —  And  I've 
heard  him  say  he  never  saw  a  pen  but  he  thought  of  a  snake."  — 
"Forrest?  You  fellows  talking  about  Forrest?  Did  you  hear  what 
Forrest  said  about  tactics?  Said  he'd  'give  more  for  fifteen  min 
utes  of  bulge  than  for  a  week  of  tactics.' "  —  "  Don't  care!  He's  right 
good  at  tactics  himself.  Murfreesboro  and  Streight  's  Raid  and  other 
places  and  times  without  number!  'Whenever  you  see  anything 
blue,'  he  says,  'shoot  at  it,  and  do  all  you  can  to  keep  up  the  scare! y 
Somebody  told  me  he  said  about  Okalona,  '  Saw  Grierson  make  a 
bad  move,  and  then  I  rode  right  over  him.'  Tactics!  Says  it 's  his 
habit  'to  git  thar  first  with  the  most  men.'  That's  tactics!  —  and 
strategics  —  and  bulge  —  and  the  art  of  War!  "  "  Old  Jack  him 
self  did  n't  know  more  about  flanking  than  Forrest  does."  -  "Did 
you  hear  what  the  old  lady  said  to  him  at  Cowan's  Station?" 
"No.  What  did  she  say? "  —  "Well,  he  and  his  men  were  kind  of 
sauntering  at  a  gallop  through  the  place  with  a  few  million  Yankees 
at  their  heels.  The  old  lady  didn't  like  men  in  grey  to  do  that-a- 
way,  so  out  she  runs  into  the  middle  of  the  street,  and  spreads  her 
skirts,  and  stops  dead  short,  unless  he  was  going  to  run  over  her,  a 
big  grey  horse  and  a  six-feet-two  cavalryman  with  eyes  like  a  hawk, 
and  a  black  beard  and  grey  head. — '  Why  don't  you  turn  and  fight? ' 
—  she  hollers,  never  noticing  the  stars  on  his  collar.  '  Turn  and  fight, 
you  great,  cowardly  lump!  turn  and  fight!  If  General  Forrest 
could  see  you,  he'd  take  out  his  sword  and  cut  your  head  off!" 

The  firing  ahead  continued  —  the  Tennessee  men  said  that  it  was 
near  Spring  Hill  —  and  Spring  Hill  was  twelve  miles  from  Franklin. 
"  Going  to  be  a  battle  ?  " — "  Yes,  think  so.  Understand  Thomas  is  at 
Franklin  behind  breastworks."  —  "All  right!  'Rock  of  Chicka- 
mauga'  is  one  of  the  best  —  even  if  he  is  a  Virginian!"  —  "Thomas 
is  n't  there  himself  —  he  's  at  Nashville.  It's  Schofield."  -  "All 
right!  We  '11  meet  Schofield."  —  "Column  halted  again!  —  Firing 
getting  louder  —  Franklin  getting  nearer  —  the  wind  rising  — 
Smoke  over  the  hill- tops  — "  — "Who's  this  going  by?  —  Give  him 
a  cheer!  —  Patrick  Romayne  Cleburne!"  —  Column  forward!  — 


410  CEASE  FIRING 

"Did  you  notice  that  old  graveyard  back  there  at  Mt.  Pleasant  — 
a  beautiful,  quiet  place?  Well,  General  Cleburne  rode  up  and  looked 
over  the  wall,  and  he  said,  says  he,  'If  I  die  in  this  country,  I 
should  like  to  be  buried  here.'  "  —  Column  forward  ! 

Spring  Hill  —  Spring  Hill  at  three  o'clock,  and  Schofield's  troops 
scattered  through  this  region,  concentrating  hurriedly,  with  intent 
to  give  battle  if  needs  be,  but  with  a  preference  for  moving  north 
along  the  pike  to  Thomas  at  Franklin.  What  they  wished  was 
granted  them.  Here  and  there  through  the  afternoon  musketry 
rolled,  but  there  was  no  determined  attack.  Hood  says  Cheatham 
was  at  fault,  and  Cheatham  says  General  Hood  dreamed  the  details 
and  the  orders  he  describes.  However  that  may  be,  no  check  was 
given  to  Schofield  that  day,  and  in  the  dark  night-time,  he  and 
his  trains  and  troops  went  by  the  sleeping  Confederate  host  and 
escaped,  all  but  unmolested,  to  Franklin  —  and  henceforth  the 
Tennessee  campaign  was  lost,  lost! 

Dawn  and  marching  on  Franklin  —  red  dawn  and  the  great 
beech  trees  of  the  region  spreading  their  leafless  arms  across  the  way 
—  sunrise  and  a  cold,  bright  day  —  Column  forward  !  —  Column 
forward !  —  Hood  "  the  fighter"  at  the  head,  tall  and  blue-eyed  and 
tawny-bearded  —  S.  D.  Lee  and  Stewart  and  Cheatham  —  the 
division  commanders,  Patrick  Cleburne  and  "Alleghany"  Johnson 
and  Carter  Stevenson  and  Clayton  and  French  and  Loring  and 
Walthall  and  Bate  and  Brown,  and  the  artillerymen  and  the  rum 
bling  guns,  and,  tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  tramp !  the  infantry  of  the 
Army  of  Tennessee.  Eighteen  hundred  of  these  men  were  to  die 
at  Franklin.  Four  thousand  were  to  be  wounded.  Two  thousand 
were  going  to  prison.  A  division  commander  was  to  die.  Four 
brigade  commanders  were  to  die,  others  to  be  wounded  or  taken. 
Fifty-three  commanders  of  regiments  were  to  be  among  the  killed, 
wounded,  and  captured.  The  execution  was  to  take  place  in  three  or 
four  hours  of  a  November  afternoon  and  a  moonless  night.  Tramp, 
tramp,  tramp,  tramp!  under  the  leafless  beeches  on  the  Franklin 
Pike.  Close  up,  men  —  close  up  I  Column  forward  !  "  What  is  that 
place  in  the  distance  with  the  hills  behind  it?  —  That 's  Franklin  on 
the  Harpeth." 

The  battle  opened  at  four  o'clock,  and  the  sun  set  before  five. 
There  was  an  open,  quite  unobstructed  plain  running  full  to  an 


THE   ARMY   OF   TENNESSEE          411 

abatis  and  long  earthworks,  and  behind  these  were  the  divisions  of 
Cox  and  Ruger  and  Kimball.  Wood's  division  was  over  the 
Harpeth  and  a  portion  of  Wagner's  occupied  a  hill  a  short  distance 
from  the  front.  There  were  twenty-six  guns  mounted  on  the  works 
and  twelve  in  reserve.  "At  four  o'clock,"  says  a  Federal  officer, 
"the  whole  Confederate  line  could  be  seen,  stretching  in  battle 
array,  from  the  dark  fringe  of  chestnuts  along  the  river  bank,  far 
across  the  Columbia  Pike,  the  colours  gaily  fluttering,  and  the  mus 
kets  gleaming  brightly,  and  advancing  steadily,  in  perfect  order, 
dressed  on  the  centre,  straight  for  the  works." 

At  first  Success,  with  an  enigmatical  smile,  rode  with  the  grey. 

The th  Virginia  yelled  as  they  rode  with  her.   Cheatham's  men, 

Stewart's  men,  Cleburne's  famed  veteran  division  yelled.  Yaaaihhhh! 
Yaaaaihhh!  Yaaaaaiiihhh!  rang  the  Rebel  yell,  and  echoed  from 
beyond  the  Harpeth  and  from  the  Winstead  hills.  They  yelled  and 
drove  Wagner's  brigades  and  followed  at  a  double,  on  straight  to 
the  gun-crowned  works.  As  the  sun  dipped  came  a  momentary  halt. 
Cleburne  was  at  the  front  of  his  troops,  about  him  his  officers,  be 
hind  him  his  regiments  waiting.  It  was  growing  cold  and  the  earth 
in  shadow.  A  man,  a  good  and  gallant  soldier,  was  sitting  on  a 
hump  of  earth  trying  to  tie  a  collection  of  more  or  less  blood-stained 
rags  around  his  bare,  half-frozen  feet.  He  worked  patiently,  but 
just  once  he  uttered  a  groan.  Cleburne  heard  the  sound  and  turned 
his  head.  Sitting  his  good  horse  he  regarded  the  soldier  for  a  moment 
with  a  half-wistful  look,  then  he  dismounted,  and  without  saying 
anything  to  any  one,  drew  off  his  boots.  With  them  in  his  hand  he 
stepped  across,  in  his  stockinged  feet,  the  bit  of  frosty  earth  to  the 
soldier.  He  held  out  the  boots.  "Put  them  on!"  he  ordered.  The 
man,  astonished,  would  have  scrambled  up  and  saluted,  but 
Cleburne  pushed  him  back.  "Put  them  on!  "he  said.  "It'sanorder. 
Put  them  on."  Stammering  protests,  the  soldier  obeyed.  "There! 
they  seem  to  fit  you,"  said  General  Cleburne.  "You  need  them 
more  than  I  do."  He  moved  back  to  his  horse,  put  his  stockinged 
foot  in  the  stirrup  and  mounted. 

There  sounded  the  charge.  In  went  the  corps  of  Stewart  and 
Cheatham,  in  went  Cleburne's  division  with  the  blue  flag,  Alabama, 
and  Mississippi,  Arkansas  and  Texas,  a  great  veteran  division, 
"General  Pat"  leading.  In  the  winter  dusk  came  the  whirlwind. 


4i2  CEASE   FIRING 

There  was  a  cotton-gin  in  an  open  field  —  there  were  breastworks  — 
every  gun  had  opened,  every  musket  was  blazing,  Casement's  brig 
ade  was  using  magazine  breech-loaders.  There  grew  a  welter,  a 
darkness,  a  shrieking.  General  Adams,  of  Loring's  division,  sprang, 
bay  horse  and  all,  across  a  ditch  and  to  the  top  of  a  parapet.  Above 
him  flared  in  the  dark  a  flag.  His  hands  were  upon  the  staff. 
"Fire!"  said  the  colour-guard,  and  their  bullets  killed  him  and  the 
bay  horse.  Gist  and  Strahl  were  killed,  Granbury  was  killed.  And 
Patrick  Romayne  Cleburne  was  killed,  and  lay  in  his  stockinged 
feet  a  few  yards  in  front  of  the  breastwork  across  which  was 
stretched  Adams's  horse. 

Thirteen  times  the  grey  charged.  There  was  no  wind  to  blow 
the  smoke  away.  It  lay  like  a  level  sea,  and  men  fought  in  it  and 
beneath  it,  and  it  would  have  been  dark  even  in  daytime.  As  it  was, 
night  was  here,  and  it  was  dark  indeed,  save  for  the  red  murder 
light. 

The th  Virginia  fought  with  the  same  desperation  that  its 

fellow  regiments  displayed.  A  wild  energy  seemed  to  inform  the 
entire  grey  army.  Edward  Gary,  rushing  with  his  men  to  the  assault, 
staggering  back,  going  forward  again,  felt  three  times  the  earth  of 
the  breastworks  in  his  hands. 

He  fought,  since  that  was  the  business  in  hand,  as  though  he  loved 
it.  He  did  not  love  it,  but  he  was  skilful,  poised,  and  sure,  and  he 
knew  no  fear.  His  men  had  a  strange  love  for  and  confidence  in  him. 
They  never  put  it  into  words  but  "  He  comes  from  a  sunrise  land 
and  knows  more  than  we"  was  what  they  meant.  He  called  half- 
gods  by  their  names  and  had  that  detachment  which  perforce  men 
honour.  Now,  sword  in  hand,  striving  to  overmount  the  breastworks 
at  Franklin,  rallying  and  leading  his  men  with  a  certain  clean 
efficiency,  he  acted  an  approved  part  in  the  strife,  but  kept  all  the 
time  a  distance  in  his  soul.  He  could  not  be  all  savage  again  and 
exult  or  howl.  Nor  was  he  merely  civilized,  to  feel  weakness  and 
horror  and  repugnance  before  this  blood  and  dirt  and  butchery,  and 
yet  for  pure  pride,  fear  of  disgrace,  and  confusion  of  intellect,  to  call 
on  every  coarser  fibre  of  the  past,  and  exalt  in  the  brain  all  the  old 
sounding,  suggestive  words,  the  words  to  make  you  feel  and  not  to 
think!  He  did  not  call  upon  the  past  though  he  acted  automatically 
as  the  past  had  acted.  He  put  horror  and  pity  and  cold  distaste  and 


THE  ARMY   OF  TENNESSEE          413 

a  sense  of  the  absurd  to  one  side  and  did  the  work,  since  it  still 
seemed  to  him  that  on  the  whole  it  must  be  done,  with  a  kind  of 
deadly  calm.  Had  he  been  more  than  a  dawn  type,  had  he  been  a 
very  little  nearer  to  the  future  which  he  presaged,  he  might  not  have 
been  there,  somehow,  in  that  dusk  at  all.  He  might  have  declined 
solutions  practised  by  boar  and  wolf,  and  died  persuading  his  kind 
toward  a  cleaner  fashion  of  solving  their  problems.  As  it  was, 
he  hated  what  he  did  but  did  it. 

Again  and  again  the  grey  wave  surged  to  the  top  of  the  breast 
works.  There  it  was  as  though  it  embraced  the  blue  —  blue  and 
grey  swayed,  locked  in  each  other's  arms.  Oh!  fire  and  smoke  and 
darkness,  and  a  roaring  as  of  sea  and  land  risen  each  against  the 
other  —  then  down  and  back  went  the  grey  sea,  down  and  back, 
down  and  back.  ...  At  nine  o'clock  the  battle  rested. 

Long  and  mournful  looked  the  line  of  camp-fires.  There  lay  on 
the  groaning  field  beneath  the  smoke  that  would  not  rise  well-nigh 
as  many  dressed  in  blue  as  dressed  in  grey.  But  all  loss  now  to  the 
grey,  with  never  a  recruiting  ground  behind  it,  was  double  loss  and 
treble  loss.  Every  living  man  knew  it,  and  knew  that  the  field  of 
Franklin  was  vain,  vain!  Another  artery  had  been  opened,  that 
was  all.  The  South  was  bleeding,  bleeding  to  death. 

There  fell  upon  the  Army  of  Tennessee  a  great  melancholy. 
Reckless  daring,  yes!  but  what  had  reckless  daring  done?  Oppor 
tunity  at  Spring  Hill  lost  —  Franklin,  where  there  was  no  oppor 
tunity,  lost,  lost !  —  Cleburne  dead  —  So  many  of  the  bravest  and 
best  dead  or  laid  low  or  taken,  so  many  slipped  forever  from  the 
Army  of  Tennessee  —  cold,  hunger,  nakedness,  Giant  Fatigue, 
Giant  Lack-of-Confidence,  Giant  Little-Hope,  Giant  Much-Despair 
—  a  wailing  wind  that  like  an  aeolian  harp  brought  a  distant  crying, 
a  crying  from  home.  .  .  .  Not  Atlanta,  not  Missionary  Ridge,  not 
Vicksburg,  —  not  anything  was  so  bad  as  the  night  and  day  after 
Franklin,  Tennessee. 

The  night  of  the  thirtieth,  Schofield,  leaving  his  dead  and 
wounded,  fell  back  from  Franklin  to  Thomas  at  Nashville  a  few 
miles  to  the  north.  Now  there  were  at  Nashville  between  fifty  and 
sixty  thousand  men  in  blue.  On  the  second  of  December  Hood  put 
his  army  into  motion,  and  that  evening  saw  it  drawn  up  and  facing 
Thomas.  Returns  conflict,  but  he  had  now  probably  less  than  thirty 


4H  CEASE  FIRING 

thousand  men.  The  loss  on  the  field  had  been  great,  and  the  strag 
gling  was  great  and  continued  so.  Also,  now  at  last,  there  was  an 
amount  of  desertion. 

The  weather  changed.  It  became  cold  winter.  For  fourteen  days 
Hood  who  so  despised  breastworks,  dug  and  entrenched.  "The 
only  remaining  chance  of  success  in  the  campaign  at  this  juncture," 
he  says,  "was  to  take  position,  entrench  about  Nashville,  and  await 
Thomas's  attack,  which,  if  handsomely  repulsed,  might  afford  us 
an  opportunity  to  follow  up  our  advantage  on  the  spot  and  enter 
the  city  on  the  heels  of  the  enemy."  —  But  George  Thomas  was  a 
better  general  though  not  a  braver  man  than  Hood,  and  he  had  two 
men  to  Hood's  one,  and  his  men  were  clothed  and  fed  and  confident. 
He  had  no  better  lieutenants  than  had  Hood,  and  his  army  was  no 
braver  than  the  grey  army  and  not  one  half  so  desperate  —  but 
when  all  is  weighed  and  allowed  for  his  advantage  remains  of  the 
greatest.  And  as  at  Franklin  so  at  Nashville,  the  grey  cavalry  was 
divided  and  Forrest  was  fatally  sent  on  side  expeditions. 

It  began  to  snow,  and  as  the  snow  fell  it  froze.  The  trees  and  the 
country  side  were  mailed  in  ice  and  the  skies  hung  grey  as  iron  and 
low  as  the  roof  of  a  cavern.  The  Army  of  Tennessee,  behind  its 
frozen  earthworks,  suffered  after  a  ghastly  fashion.  There  was 
little  wood  for  fires,  and  little  food  for  cooking,  and  little  covering 
for  warmth.  On  the  thirteenth  there  set  in  a  thaw,  and  the  fifteenth 
dawned,  not  cold,  with  a  winter  fog.  Through  it  the '  Rock  of  Chick- 
amauga'  moved  out  in  force  from  Nashville,  and  with  his  whole 
strength  struck  fair  and  full  the  Army  of  Tennessee. 

Two  days  the  two  armies  fought.  In  the  slant  sunshine  of  the  late 
afternoon  of  the  second  day,  the  Federal  commander  brought  a 
great  concentration  of  artillery  against  the  Confederate  centre, 
and  under  cover  of  that  storm  of  shot  and  shell,  massed  his  troops 
and  charged  the  centre.  It  broke.  The  blue  poured  over  the  breast 
works.  At  the  same  moment  other  and  dire  blue  strokes  were  deliv 
ered  against  the  right  and  left.  The  grey  army  was  crumpled  together 
like  a  piece  of  cloth.  Then  in  a  torrent  of  shouting  and  a  thunder 
of  guns  came  the  rout.  The  grey  cloth  was  torn  in  strips  and  fled 
like  shreds  in  a  high  wind.  Beside  the  killed  and  wounded  the  grey 
left  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy  fifty-four  guns  and  four  thousand 
five  hundred  prisoners.  Night  came  down;  night  over  the  Confed 
eracy. 


THE  ARMY   OF   TENNESSEE          415 

Ten  days  and  nights  the  shattered  army  fell  back  to  the  Tennes 
see,  moving  at  first  through  a  hail-storm  of  cavalry  attacks.  Forrest 
beat  these  off,  Forrest  and  a  greatly  heroic  rear  guard  under  Walt- 
hall.  This  infantry  command  and  Forrest  saved  the  remnant  of  the 
army. 

The  weather  grew  atrocious.  The  country  now  was  hilly,  wooded, 
thinly  populated.  Snow  fell  and  then  sleet,  and  the  ground  grew  ice 
and  the  rail  fences  and  the  trees  were  mailed  in  ice.  The  feet  of  the 
men  left  blood-marks  on  the  ice,  the  hands  of  the  men  were  frozen 
where  they  rested  on  the  gun  stocks.  Men  lay  down  by  the  roadside 
and  died  or  were  gathered  by  the  blue  force  hard  on  the  heels  of  the 
rear  guard.  The  ambulances  bore  their  load,  the  empty  ammunition 
and  commissary  wagons  carried  as  many  as  they  might,  the  caissons 
were  overlaid  with  moaning  men,  the  mounted  officers  took  men 
up  behind  them.  Others,  weak,  ill,  frozen,  shoeless  did  their  piteous 
best  to  keep  up  with  the  "  boys."  They  fell  behind,  they  sank  upon 
the  roadside,  they  drew  themselves  into  the  gaunt  woods  and  lay 
down  upon  the  frozen  snow,  arms  over  eyes.  Tramp,  tramp,  tramp, 
tramp!  went  the  column  on  the  road.  Close  up,  men,  close  up  — 
close  up!  "It's  the  end,  it's  the  end!  "said  the  men.  "For  God's 
sake,  strike  up  Dixie!" 

"  'Way  down  South  in  the  land  of  cotton, 
Old  times  there  are  not  forgotten  — " 


XXXIX 

COLUMBIA 

THE  bells  of  the  South  had  been  melted  and  run  into  cannon, 
and  yet  there  seemed  a  tolling  of  bells.  Everywhere  they 
tolled  —  louder  and  louder !  —  tolled  the  siege  of  Savan 
nah,  tolled  Hatcher's  Run  in  Virginia,  tolled  Fort  Fisher  in  North 
Carolina  and  the  blue  bombarding  ships  —  tolled  solemnly  and 
loudly,  "The  End  is  come!" 

Forrest  guarding,  the  haggard  remnant  of  the  Army  of  Tennessee 
crossed  the  river  on  the  twenty-seventh  of  December.  There  was 
a  council  of  war.  Where  to  go  to  rest  —  recoup  —  reorganize? 
Southwest  into  Mississippi?  Southwest  they  marched  and  on  the 
tenth  of  January  came  to  Tupelo.  Hood  asked  to  be  relieved  from 
command  and  was  relieved,  A.  P.  Stewart  succeeding  him.  Later 
the  army,  now  a  small,  war-worn  force,  went  to  fight  in  North 
Carolina.  But  Stevenson's  division  and  a  few  other  troops  were 
sent  into  South  Carolina  to  Hardee  who,  with  less  than  fifteen 
thousand  men,  mostly  in  garrison  at  Charleston,  was  facing  Sher 
man  and  his  sixty  thousand,  flushed  from  that  March  to  the  Sea 
which  is  described  as  "one  long,  glorious  picnic,"  from  the  capture 
of  Savannah,  from  the  plaudits  of  the  Northern  press  and  the  praise 
of  Government.  Now  the  idea  that  he  should  join  Grant  at  Peters 
burg  having  been  laid  aside,  Sherman  proposed  to  march  northward 
through  South  Carolina. 

The  bells  tolled  loud  in  the  South,  tolled  for  the  women  in  the 
night-time,  tolled  for  the  shrunken  armies,  tolled  for  the  cities  that 
waited,  a  vision  before  their  eyes  of  New  Orleans,  Atlanta,  Savan 
nah,  tolled  for  the  beleaguered  places  where  men  watched  in  the 
trenches,  tolled  for  the  burned  farmhouses,  the  burned  villages, 
the  lonely,  blackened  country  with  the  gaunt  chimneys  standing 
up,  tolled  for  famine,  tolled  for  death,  tolled  for  the  broken-hearted, 
tolled  for  human  passions  let  loose,  tolled  for  anger,  greed  and  lust, 


COLUMBIA  417 

tolled  for  the  shrunken  good,  tolled  for  the  mounting  ill,  tolled  for 
war!  Through  the  South  they  tolled  and  tolled. 

Beauregard  took  command  in  South  Carolina.  It  was  not  known 
whether  Sherman  would  move  north  and  west  upon  Augusta,  just 
over  the  Georgia  line,  or  east  to  Charleston,  or  almost  due  north  to 
Columbia.  Late  in  January  he  moved  from  Savannah  in  ruins, 
crossed  the  flooded  Savannah  River  by  pontoon,  entered  South 
Carolina,  and  marched  northward  toward  Columbia  the  capital  of 
that  state.  It  being  a  rainy  season,  and  swamp  and  river  out  of 
bounds,  he  made  not  more  than  ten  miles  a  day. 

At  this  time  one  of  his  staff  officers  writes,  "The  actual  invasion 
of  South  Carolina  has  begun.  The  well-known  sight  of  columns  of 
black  smoke  meets  our  gaze  again."  And  another  Federal  officer, 
"  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  assertion  that  the  feeling  among  the 
troops  was  one  of  extreme  bitterness  toward  the  people  of  South 
Carolina.  It  was  freely  expressed  as  the  column  hurried  over  the 
bridge  at  Sister's  Ferry,  eager  to  commence  the  punishment  of  the 
original  Secessionists.  Threatening  words  were  heard  from  soldiers 
who  prided  themselves  on  conservatism  in  house-burning  while  in 
Georgia,  and  officers  openly  confessed  their  fears  that  the  coming 
campaign  would  be  a  wicked  one.  Just  or  unjust  as  this  feeling  was 
toward  the  country  people  in  South  Carolina,  it  was  universal. 
I  first  saw  its  fruits  at  Purisburg,  where  two  or  three  piles  of  black 
ened  bricks  and  an  acre  or  so  of  dying  embers  marked  the  site  of  an 
old,  Revolutionary  town ;  and  this  before  the  column  had  fairly  got 
its  hand  in.  ...  The  army  might  safely  march  the  darkest  night, 
the  crackling  pine  woods  shooting  up  their  columns  of  flame,  and 
the  burning  houses  along  the  way  would  light  it  on.  ...  As  for  the 
wholesale  burnings,  pillage,  devastation,  committed  in  South 
Carolina,  magnify  all  I  have  said  of  Georgia  some  fifty-fold,  and 
then  throw  in  an  occasional  murder,  'just  to  bring  an  old  hard- 
fisted  cuss  to  his  senses,'  and  you  have  a  pretty  good  idea  of  the 
whole  thing." 

General  Sherman  testifies  that  "the  whole  army  is  burning  with 
insatiable  desire  to  wreak  vengeance  on  South  Carolina.  I  almost 
tremble  at  her  fate." 

And  one  of  his  captains  remarks  of  the  situation  several  weeks 
later.  "It  was  sad  to  see  this  wanton  destruction  of  property  which 


4i  8  CEASE   FIRING 

.  .  .  was  the  work  of  'bummers'  who  were  marauding  through  the 
country  committing  every  sort  of  outrage.  There  was  no  restraint 
except  with  the  column  or  the  regular  foraging  parties.  We  had  no 
communications  and  could  have  no  safeguards.  The  country  was 
necessarily  left  to  take  care  of  itself,  and  became  a  howling  waste. 
The  '  Coffee-coolers '  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  were  archangels 
compared  to  our  ( bummers'  who  often  fell  to  the  tender  mercies 
of  Wheeler's  cavalry,  and  were  never  heard  of  again,  earning  a  fate 
richly  deserved." 

Winter  is  not  truly  winter  in  South  Carolina,  but  in  the  winter  of 
'65  it  rained  and  rained  and  rained.  All  swamps  and  streams  were 
out,  low-lying  plantations  were  under  water,  the  country  looked  like 
a  flooded  rice-field.  The  water-oaks  and  live-oaks  and  magnolias 
stood  up,  shining  and  dark,  beneath  the  streaming  sky;  where  the 
road  was  corduroyed  it  was  hard  to  travel,  and  where  it  was  not 
wheels  sank  and  sank.  All  the  world  was  wet,  and  the  canes  in  the 
marshes  made  no  rustling.  When  it  did  not  rain  the  sky  remained 
grey,  a  calm  grey  pall  keeping  out  the  sun,  but  leaving  a  quiet  grey- 
pearl  light,  like  a  dream  that  is  neither  sad  nor  glad. 

"It  is,"  said  Desiree,  "the  air  of  Cape  Jessamine  that  winter  you 
came." 

"Yes.  The  road  to  Vidalia!  We  passed  at  nightfall  a  piece  of 
water  with  a  bit  of  bridge.  I  helped  push  a  gun  upon  it,  and  the 
howitzer  knocked  me  on  the  head  for  my  pains.  I  fell  down,  down 
into  deep  water,  forty  fathoms  at  the  least,  and  blacker  than  ebony 
at  midnight.  .  .  .  And  then  I  waked  up  in  Rasmus's  cabin,  and  we 
had  supper,  and  water  came  under  the  door,  and  we  circumvented 
the  bayou,  and  went  to  the  Gaillard  place  which  was  called  Cape 
Jessamine.  And  there  I  found  a  queen  in  a  russet  gown  and  a  sol 
dier's  cloak.  The  wind  blew  the  cloak  out  and  made  a  canopy  of  it 
in  the  light  of  torches  and  bonfires.  She  stood  upon  the  levee  and 
bitted  and  bridled  the  Mississippi  River  —  and  I  fell  in  love,  deep, 
deep,  forty  thousand  fathoms  deep  — " 

"Two  years.  .  .  .  You  were  so  ragged  and  splashed  with  mud 
—  And  my  heart  beat  like  that!  and  said  to  me  'Who  is  this  that 
comes  winged  and  crowned?'  —  Listen!" 

They  were  on  a  road  somewhat  to  the  southeast  of  Columbia, 
D6siree  in  an  open  wagon  driven  by  a  negro  boy,  Edward  —  major 


COLUMBIA  419 

now  of  the th  Virginia — riding  beside  her  on  a  grey  horse.  Ahead, 

at  some  distance,  they  just  saw  the  regiment,  marching  through  a 
gloomy  wood,  bound  for  a  post  on  the  Edisto.  The  sound  of  its 
going  and  the  voices  of  the  men  came  faintly  back  through  the  damp 
and  quiet  air.  But  what  they  heard  was  nearer,  a  passionate  weep 
ing  amid  the  trees  at  a  cross-road.  Coming  to  this  opening  they  found 
a  spacious  family  carriage  drawn  by  two  ancient  plough  horses,  a 
cart  with  a  mule  attached,  and  two  or  three  negro  pedestrians.  The 
whole  had  stopped  the  moment  before  and  with  reason.  A  white- 
haired  lady,  stretched  upon  the  cushions  of  the  carriage  laid  cross 
wise,  had  just  breathed  her  last.  The  weeping  was  her  daughter's, 
a  dark,  handsome  girl  of  twenty.  Two  negro  women  lamented  also, 
while  the  coachman  had  gotten  down  from  the  box  and  stood  star 
ing,  with  a  working  face.  There  were  some  bags  and  pillows  and 
things  of  little  account  heaped  in  the  cart,  and  on  these  a  small 
negro  boy  was  profoundly  sleeping. 

Edward  dismounted  and  Desiree  stepped  down  from  the  wagon. 
"  What  could  they  do  ?  How  sad  it  was !  —  Was  there  any  help? — " 
Desiree  lifted  the  girl  from  her  mother's  form,  drew  her  away  to  a 
roadside  log,  and  sitting  there,  held  her  close  and  let  her  weep. 
Edward  saw  the  oldest  negro  woman,  murmuring  constantly  to  her 
self,  close  the  eyes  of  the  dead  mistress,  straighten  her  limbs  and  fold 
her  hands.  The  other  woman  sat  on  the  earth  and  rocked  herself. 
The  plough  horses  and  the  mule  lowered  their  heads  and  cropped 
what  green  bush  and  grass  there  was.  The  little  black  boy  slept 
on  and  on.  Edward  talked  with  the  coachman.  "  Yaas,  marster,  dat 
so!  —  'Bout  thirty  miles  south  from  here,  sah.  Bienvenu  —  er 
Lauren's  place.  En  de  Yankees  come  hollerin'  en  nrin'  en  hits  daid 
of  night  en  old  Marster  en  young  Marster  wif  Gineral  Lee.  —  One 
officer,  he  say  git  away  quick !  en  he  give  me  er  guard  en  I  hitches 
up,  en  we  lif  oP  Mistis  out  of  her  bed  where  she's  had  pneumonia, 
en  Miss  Fanny  en  her  mammy  en  Julia  dar  wif  her  boy,  we  teks  de 
road."  % 

Desiree  and  Edward  saw  the  forlorn  cortege  proceed  on  its  way 
with  hopes  of  a  village  or  some  country  house.  They  stood  a  mo 
ment  watching  it  disappear,  then  Desiree  rested  her  hand  upon  his 
arm  and  mounted  again  into  the  wagon,  and  he  sprang  upon  his 
horse  that  was  named  Damon,  and  the  negro  boy  touched  the  mule 


420  CEASE  FIRING 

drawing  the  wagon  with  his  whip,  and  they  all  went  on  after  the 
regiment.  They  found  it  at  twilight,  encamped  in  the  hospitable 
houses  and  the  one  street  of  a  tiny  rain-soaked  hamlet.  Head 
quarters  was  the  parsonage  and  here  was  a  room  ready  for  the 

Major's  wife.  From  colonel  to  cook  the th  Virginia  loved  the 

Major's  wife.  Romance  dwelled  with  her,  and  a  queenliness  that 
was  never  vanquished.  Her  presence  never  wearied;  she  knew 
when  to  withdraw,  to  disappear,  how  not  to  give  trouble,  and  how, 
when  she  gave  it,  to  make  it  seem  a  high  guerdon,  a  princess's 
favour.  Sometimes  the  regiment  did  not  see  her  for  weeks  or  even 
months  on  end,  and  then  she  came  like  a  rose  in  summer,  a  more 
golden  light  on  the  fields,  a  deeper  blue  in  the  sky.  She  made 
mystics  of  men. 

Now  the  parson's  wife  made  her  welcome,  and  after  a  small 
supper  sat  with  her  in  a  clean  bedroom  before  a  fire.  The 
parson's  wife  was  full  of  sighs,  and  "  Ah,  my  dears!"  and  ominous 
shakings  of  the  head.  "South  Carolina's  bound  down,"  she  said, 
"  and  going  to  be  tormented.  What  you  tell  me  about  that  dead 
woman  and  her  daughter  is  but  the  beginning.  It's  but  a  leaf  be 
fore  the  storm.  We  're  going  to  hear  of  many  whirled  and  trodden 
leaves." 

"Yes,"  said  Desiree,  her  eyes  upon  the  fantastic  shapes  in  the 
hollow  of  the  fire.  "Whirled  and  trodden  leaves." 

"I  have  a  sister,"  said  the  parson's  wife,  "in  Georgia.  She  got 
away,  but  will  you  listen  to  some  of  the  things  she  writes  ?" 

She  got  the  letter  and  read.  Desiree,  listening,  put  her  hands 
over  her  eyes  and  shivered  a  little  for  all  the  room  was  warm.  "I 
should  not  have  said  such  things  could  happen  in  a  Christian  land," 
she  said. 

"They  happen,"  said  the  parson's  wife.  "War  is  a  horror,  and 
a  horror  to  women.  It  has  always  been  so  and  always  will  be  so. 
And  now  I  must  go  see  that  there  is  covering  enough  on  the  beds." 

At  cock-crow  the  regiment  was  up  and  away.  Still  the  same 
pearly  sky,  the  same  quietude,  the  same  stretches  of  water  crept 
under  the  trees,  the  same  heavy  road,  and  halts  and  going  on.  The 
regiment  took  dinner  beneath  live  oaks  on  a  little  rise  of  ground 
beside  a  swamp  become  a  lake.  Officers'  mess  dined  a  little  to  one 
side  beneath  a  monster  tree.  All  wood  was  wet  and  the  fires  smoked, 


COLUMBIA  42  r 

but  soldiers  grow  skilful  and  at  last  a  blaze  was  got.  Sherman  was. 
yet  to  the  southward;  this  strip  of  country  not  yet  overrun  and 
provisions  to  be  had.  Officers'  mess  to-day  sat  down  under  the  live- 
oaks  to  what,  compared  to  many  and  many  a  time  in  its  existence, 
appeared  a  feast  for  kings.  There  were  roasted  ducks  and  sweet 
potatoes,  rice  and  milk  and  butter.  Officers'  mess  said  grace 
devoutly. 

Desiree  said  grace  with  her  friends,  for  they  had  sent  back  to 
urge  her  wagon  forward  and  to  say  they  had  a  feast  and  to  beg  her 
company.  She  sat  with  Edward  over  against  the  Colonel,  and  the 
captains  and  lieutenants  sat  to  either  side  the  board.  They  made 
a  happy  dinner,  jesting  and  laughing,  while  off  in  the  grove  of  oaks 
was  heard  the  laughter  of  their  grey  men.  When  dinner  was  over, 
and  half  an  hour  of  sweet  rest  was  over,  into  column  came  all,  and 
took  again  the  swampy  road. 

That  evening  headquarters  was  a  fine  old  pillared  house,  set  in 
a  noble  garden,  surrounded  in  its  turn  by  the  fields  and  woods  of  a 
great  plantation.  Here  there  was  a  large  family,  an  old  man  and 
his  married  daughters  and  their  daughters  and  little  sons.  These 
made  the  men  welcome  where  they  camped  beside  fires  out  under 
the  great  trees  of  the  place,  and  the  grey  officers  welcome  indoors, 
and  Desiree  welcome  and  gave  her  and  Edward  a  room  with  mirrors 
and  chintz  curtains  and  a  great  four-poster  bed  and  a  light- wood  fire. 
A  little  after  the  regiment,  came  up  also  a  small  troop  of  grey  cavalry 
returning  from  a  reconnoissance  to  the  southward.  Infantry  and 
the  plantation  alike  were  eager  for  Cavalry's  news.  Its  news  was 
ravage  and  ruin,  the  locusts  of  Egypt  and  a  grudge  against  the  land. 
There  were  sixty  thousand  of  the  foe  and  it  seemed  determined  now 
that  Sherman  meant  Columbia. 

"What  are  the  troops  at  Columbia?" 

"Stevenson's  twenty-six  hundred  men,  a  few  other  scattering 
commands,  Wheeler's  cavalry  —  say  five  thousand  in  all." 

"Could  not  General  Beauregard  bring  troops  from  Charleston?" 

"  General  Hampton  thinks  he  might.  —  Evacuate  Charleston  — 
concentrate  before  Columbia.   But  I  don't  know  —  I  don't  knowl 
There  are  not  many  thousands  even  at  Charleston." 

"It's  the  end." 

"Yes.  I  suppose  so.  But  fight  on  till  the  warder  drops!" 


422  CEASE  FIRING 

There  were  the  young  girls  and  young  married  women  in  the  great 
old  house.  There  was  a  polished  floor,  and  negro  fiddlers  had  not  left 
the  plantation.  Cavalry  and  infantry  officers  were,  with  some 
exceptions,  young  men  —  and  this  was  South  Carolina.  "Yes, 
dance ! "  said  the  old  gentleman,  the  head  of  the  house.  "  To-morrow 
you  may  have  neither  fiddlers  nor  floor." 

They  danced  till  almost  midnight,  and  at  the  last  they  danced 
the  Virginia  Reel.  The  women  were  not  in  silks  or  fine  muslins, 
they  were  in  homespun.  The  men  were  not  dressed  like  the  young 
bloods,  the  University  students,  the  dandies  of  five  years  back. 
Their  grey  uniforms  were  clean,  but  very  worn.  Bars  upon  the 
collar,  or  sash  and  star  took  the  place  of  the  old  elaboration  of 
velvet  waistcoat  and  fine  neckcloth.  Spurs  that  would  have  caught 
in  filmy  laces  did  not  harm  the  women's  skirts  of  linsey.  The  fid 
dlers  fiddled,  the  lights  burned.  Up  and  down  and  up  again,  and 
around  and  around.  .  .  . 

Edward  and  Desir6e,  resting  by  a  window,  regarded  the  room, 
at  once  vivid  and  dreamy.  "We  were  dancing,"  he  said,  "the  Vir 
ginia  Reel  at  Greenwood  the  night  there  came  news  of  the  secession 
of  Virginia."  < 

"Much  has  happened  since  then." 

"Much." 

The  fiddlers  played,  the  lights  burned,  they  took  their  places. 
At  midnight  the  revel  closed,  and  they  slept  in  the  chamber  with  the 
mirrors  and  the  fire,  until  the  winter  day  showed,  smoked-pearl, 
without  the  windows.  At  breakfast-time  came  a  courier  from  Colum 
bia,  ordering  the th  Virginia  back  to  that  place. 

The  weather  cleared  and  grew  colder.  The  roads  drying,  the 
regiment  made  good  pace.  But  for  all  the  patches  of  bright  sky 
there  seemed  to  hang  a  pall  over  the  land.  The  wind  in  the  woods 
blew  with  a  long,  mournful,  rushing  sound.  D6siree  sat  in  the  wagon 
with  bowed  head,  her  hands  in  her  lap.  Edward  was  ahead,  to-day, 
with  the  regiment.  The  wagon  went  heavily  on,  the  wind  rushed 
on  either  side  like  goblin  horsemen.  At  intervals  during  the  morning 
the  negro  boy  was  moved  to  speech.  "  Yass  'm.  All  de  ghostes  ase 
loose  in  de  graveyards.  Dey  teP  erbout  hit  in  de  kitchen  las'  night. 
Dey  been  to  er  voadoo  woman,  en  she  say  all  de  ghostes  loose,  high 
en  low,  out  er  ebery  graveyard,  en  she  ain't  got  no  red  pepper  what 


COLUMBIA  423 

kin  lay  them.  She  say  time  past  she  had  ernough,  but  she  ain't  got 
ernough  now." 

"What  are  they  doing  —  the  ghosts?" 

"Dey 're  linin'  up  in  long  lines  like  de  poplars,  en  wavin'  dere 
arms  en  sayin'^De  end's  come!  De  end's  come! '  En  den  dey  rises 
from  de  ground  en  goes  erroun'  de  plantation  in  er  ring,  'twel  you 
almos'  think  hits  jus*  er  ring  ob  mist.  But  dey  keep  er-sayin', 
'  De  end 's  come !  De  end 's  come ! '  Yass  'm,  dey  're  all  out,  en  dere 
ain't  nothin'  what  kin  lay  them ! " 

Moving  now  as  they  were  on  a  main  road  to  Columbia  they  this 
day  passed  or  overtook  numbers  of  people,  all  going  their  way. 
These  people  looked  distracted.  "  What  was  happening  to  the  south 
ward?"  "Ruin!"  they  answered.  Some  talked  quickly  and  fever 
ishly  as  long  as  they  might  to  the  soldiers;  others  dealt  in  mono 
syllables,  shook  their  heads  and  went  on  with  fixed  gaze.  Shortly 
before  this  time  General  Sherman  had  written  to  General  Halleck: 
"This  war  differs  from  European  wars  in  this  particular  —  we  are 
not  only  fighting  hostile  armies  but  a  hostile  people;  and  must 
make  old  and  young,  rich  and  poor,  feel  the  hard  hand  of  want,  as 
well  as  their  organized  armies."  These  on  the  road  to  Columbia 
were  the  unorganized  —  the  old  and  very  young  and  the  sick  and 
a  great  number  of  women. 

The  soldiers  were  troubled.  "Sherman's  surely  coming  to 
Columbia,  and  how  will  five  thousand  men  hold  it  against  sixty 
thousand?  You  poor  people  ought  n't  to  go  there!" 

"Then  where  should  we  go?" 

"God  knows!" 

"We  are  from  Purisburg.  There  is  n't  a  house  standing." 

"We  are  from  Barn  well.  It  was  burning  when  we  left.  Our  home 
was  burned." 

"I  am  from  toward  Pocotaligo.  It  is  all  a  waste.  All  black  and 
burned." 

On  they  streamed,  the  refugees.  The  regiment  gave  what  help, 
what  lifts  upon  the  way  it  could.  As  for  Desiree,  coming  on  in  her 
wagon,  she  took  into  it  so  many,  that  presently  she  found  no  room 
for  herself,  but  walked  beside  the  horse.  And  so,  at  last,  on  a  dull, 
soft  day,  they  came  into  Columbia. 

It  was  the  sixteenth  of  February.  The  Capital  of  South  Carolina 


424  CEASE   FIRING 

was  by  nature  a  pleasant,  bowery  town,  though  now  it  was  so  heavy 
of  heart  and  filled  with  forebodings.  Of  the  five  thousand  who 
formed  its  sole  defence  some  portion  was  in  the  town  itself,  but  the 
greater  part  lay  outside,  on  picket,  up  and  down  the  Congaree. 

The th  Virginia,  coming  in,  was  quartered  in  the  town  until  it 

was  known  what  was  to  be  done.  Orangeburg  was  not  many  miles 
below  Columbia,  and  the  head  of  Sherman's  column  had  reached 
Orangeburg.  There  was  a  track  of  fire  drawn  across  the  country; 
Columbia  saw  doom  coming  like  a  prairie-fire. 

Edward  found  a  room  for  Desiree  and  he  came  to  her  here  an 
hour  before  dusk.  They  stood  together  by  a  window  looking  down 
into  the  street.  "They  are  leaving  home,"  she  said.  "I  have  seen 
women  and  children  going  all  afternoon.  I  have  seen  such  sad  things 
in  this  pretty  street." 

" Sad  enough! "  he  answered.  " Desiree,  I  think  that  you  must  go 
too." 

"No,  no!"  she  said.   "No,  no!  There  is  nowhere  to  go." 

"There  is  Camden  and  the  villages  in  the  northern  part  of  the 
State.  It  is  possible  that  Sherman  means  when  he  has  done  his 
worst  here,  to  turn  back  toward  Charleston.  There  is  no  knowing, 
but  it  is  possible.  If  he  does  that,  Camden  and  those  other  places 
may  escape." 

"And  you?" 

"  There  are  no  orders  yet.  We  may  stay  or  we  may  march  away. 
O  God,  what  a  play  is  Life!" 

"Those  women  who  are  parting  down  there  —  saying  good-bye 
to  all  they  love  —  they  do  not  at  all  know  that  they  are  going  into 
safety,  and  those  who  are  parting  from  them  do  not  know.  It  might 
be  better  for  them  to  stay  in  this  large  town.  They  are  going  away 
in  the  dark  night,  and  the  enemy  may  have  parties  out  where  they 
are  going.  I  had  rather  stay  here.  I  think  that  it  is  safer." 

"Desiree,  Desiree!  If  a  man  could  see  but  ever  so  little  of  the 
road  before  him!  If  we  are  marched  away  in  haste  as  we  may  be, 
you  cannot  go  with  us  this  time.  Then  to  leave  you  here  alone  — " 

"There  is  an  Ursuline  convent  here,"  she  said.  "They  will  not 
burn  that.  If  you  leave  me  and  evil  comes  near  I  will  go  there." 

"You  promise  that?" 

"Yes,  I  promise  it." 


COLUMBIA  425 

It  was  in  the  scroll  of  their  fate  that  he  should  leave  her  and  that 
evil  should  come  nigh.  She  waked  in  a  strange  red  dawn  to  hear  the 
tramp  of  feet  in  the  street  below.  Instantly  she  was  at  the  window. 
Grey  soldiers  were  passing  below  —  a  column.  In  the  south  broke 
suddenly  a  sound  of  cannon.  She  saw  a  shell,  sent  from  the  other 
side  of  the  river,  explode  in  the  red  air  above  the  city  roofs.  There 
came  a  feeling  of  Vicksburg  again. 

A  hand  was  at  her  door.  She  opened  it  and  Edward  took  her  in 
his  arms.  "I  have  but  an  instant,"  he  said.  "If  we  go  it  may  be 
better  for  this  city  than  if  we  stayed.  The  mayor  will  surrender  it 
peaceably,  and  it  may  be  spared  destruction.  For  you,  Desiree  — 
for  you  —  God  bless  you,  God  keep  you  till  we  meet  again!" 

She  smiled  back  at  him.   "That  will  be  shortly." 

"No  man  can  tell,  nor  no  woman.  You  will  go  to  the  Ursuline 
convent  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  will  go." 

He  strained  her  to  him;  they  kissed  and  parted.  The  soldiers 
went  by  in  the  red  dawn,  out  of  the  town,  toward  Winnsboro'  to  the 
northward.  This  day  also  Charleston  was  evacuated,  Hardee  with 
his  men  moving  north  to  Cheraw  on  the  Pedee.  At  Columbia  the 
mayor  and  aldermen  went  out  between  eight  and  nine  in  the 
morning  and,  meeting  the  Federal  advance,  surrendered  the  town, 
and  asked  for  protection  for  the  non-combatants  within  its  walls. 
How  it  was  given  let  history  tell.  Several  days  later  Sherman  writes 
to  Kilpatrick:  "Let  the  whole  people  know  that  war  is  now  against 
them,  because  their  armies  flee  before  us  and  do  not  defend  their 
country  or  frontier  as  they  should.  It  is  pretty  nonsense  for  Wheeler 
and  Beauregard  and  such  vain  heroes  to  talk  of  our  warring  against 
women  and  children.  If  they  claim  to  be  men  they  should  defend 
their  women  and  children  and  prevent  us  reaching  their  homes." 

Perhaps  Wheeler  and  Beauregard  and  the  other  vain  heroes 
would  have  prevented  it  if  they  could.  Since,  however,  it  lay  in 
their  hard  fortune  that  they  could  not,  there  remained  in  General 
Sherman's  mind  no  single  reason  for  consideration. 

Desiree  went  truly  to  the  Ursuline  convent,  passing  swiftly 
through  the  windy  streets  on  a  windy  day,  choosing  small  back 
streets  because  the  principal  ones  were  now  crowded  with  soldiers,, 
keeping  close  to  the  walls  of  the  houses  and  drawing  a  scarf  she 


426  CEASE  FIRING 

wore  more  fully  about  head  and  face,  for  even  through  the  side 
streets  there  were  now  echoing  drunken  voices.  She  came  to  the 
convent  door,  rang,  and  greeting  the  sister  who  came  told  how  alone 
she  was  in  the  city.  The  door  opened  to  admit  her  of  course,  and 
she  only  wished  that  Edward  might  see  her  in  the  convent  garden 
or  in  the  little  room  where  the  nuns  said  she  might  sleep  that-night. 
But  no  one  slept  in  the  convent  that  night.  It  was  burned. 
The  nuns  and  the  young  girls,  their  pupils,  and  the  women  who  had 
come  for  refuge  stayed  the  night  in  the  churchyard.  It  was  cold  and 
there  was  a  high  wind.  The  leafless  branches  of  the  trees  clattered 
in  it,  and  below,  on  their  knees,  the  nuns  murmured  prayers,  their 
half-frozen  hands  fingering  their  rosaries.  The  young  girls  drew 
together  for  warmth,  and  the  Mother  Superior  stood,  counselling 
and  comforting.  And  the  convent  burned  and  the  city  burned, 
with  a  roaring  and  crackling  of  flames  and  a  shouting  of  men. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE   ROAD   TO   WINNSBORO* 

SHE  was  a  wise  as  well  as  a  fair  woman,  and  yet,  the  day  after 
the  burning  of  Columbia,  she  took  a  road  that  led  northward 
from  the  smoking  ruins.  In  the  cold  morning  sunlight 
Sherman  himself  had  come  to  the  churchyard,  and  hat  in  hand  had 
spoken  to  the  Mother  Superior.  He  regretted  the  accidental  burn 
ing  of  the  convent.  Any  yet  standing  house  in  town  that  she  might 
designate  should  be  reserved  for  her,  her  nuns  and  pupils.  She 
named  a  large  old  residence  from  which  the  family  had  gone,  and 
walking  between  files  of  soldiers  the  nuns  and  their  charges  came 
here.  "We  learned,"  says  the  Mother  Superior,  "from  the  officer 
in  charge  that  his  orders  were  to  fire  it  unless  the  Sisters  were  in 
actual  possession  of  it,  but  if  even  'a  detachment  of  Sisters'  were 
in  it,  it  should  be  spared  on  their  account.  Accordingly  we  took 
possession  of  it,  although  fires  were  already  kindled  near  and  the 
servants  were  carrying  off  the  bedding  and  furniture,  in  view  of  the 
house  being  consigned  to  the  flames." 

All  morning  the  burning,  the  looting  and  shouting  went  on. 
Smoke  rolled  through  the  streets,  the  wind  blew  flames  from  point 
to  point.  The  house  was  crowded  to  oppression;  there  came  a 
question  of  food  for  so  many.  Some  one  was  needed  to  go  to  the 
mayor  with  representations,  which  might  in  turn  be  brought 
before  the  Federal  commander.  Desiree  volunteered  and  the  dis 
tance  not  being  great,  went  and  returned  in  safety.  Not  far  from 
the  door  that  would  open  to  receive  her  was  a  burned  house  and 
before  it  an  ancient  carriage,  and  in  the  carriage  two  ladies  and  a 
little  girl.  There  were  soldiers  hi  the  street  and  to  be  seen  through 
smoke  beyond  the  fallen  house,  but  here  beside  the  carriage  was  an 
officer  high  in  command  and  order  prevailed.  The  officer  was 
speaking  to  the  ladies.  "If  there  is  any  trouble,  show  your  pass. 
I  woa't  say  that  you  are  wise  to  leave  this  place,  sad  as  it  is!  These 
are  wild  times,  and  there  are  more  marauders  than  I  like.  Even  if 


4^8  CEASE  FIRING 

you  make  your  way  to  your  brother's  house,  you  may  find  it  in 
ashes.  And  if  you  overtake  the  rear  of  your  army,  what  can  that 
help?  We  will  be  sweeping  on  directly  and  the  rebels  —  I  beg  your 
pardon,  General  Beauregard's  army  —  will  have  to  fall  back  before 
us  or  surrender.  I  think  you  had  better  stay.  General  Sherman  will 
surely  issue  rations  to  the  place." 

"We  prefer  to  go  on,"  said  the  eldest  of  the  two  women.  "We 
may  find  friends  somewhere,  and  somewhere  to  lay  our  heads.  We 
do  thank  you  for  the  pass." 

"Not  at  all!"  said  the  officer.  "As  I  told  you,  your  father  and 
my  father  were  friends." 

As  he  moved  from  the  carriage  door  Desiree  saw  that  there  was 
an  empty  seat.  "Oh,"  she  thought,  "if  I  might  have  it!" 

Her  face,  turned  toward  the  carriage,  showed  from  out  her  hood. 
The  younger  of  the  women  saw  her,  started  and  uttered  an  exclam 
ation.  "Desiree  Gaillard!"  she  cried. 

Lo!  it  was  an  acquaintance,  almost  a  friend,  a  girl  who  had  been 
much  in  New  Orleans,  with  whom  she  had  laughed  at  many  a  party. 
" Go  with  them!  —  yes,  indeed,  she  might  go  with  them."  She  ran 
to  the  house  that  was  now  the  convent,  gave  the  Mayor's  message 
and  thanked  the  Sisters  for  the  help  they  would  have  given,  then  out 
she  came  to  the  smoke-filled  street  and  took  her  place  in  the  car 
riage.  It  had  a  guard  out  of  town;  the  officer  had  been  punctilious 
to  do  his  best.  It  was  understood  that  there  were  Federal  troops 
on  the  Camden  road,  but  they  were  going  toward  Winnsboro*. 
When  the  burning  city  lay  behind  them  and  the  quiet  winter  fields 
around,  when  the  guard  had  said  a  gruff  "You're  safe  enough  now! 
Good-day!"  and  turned  back,  when  the  negro  driver  said,  " Git  up, 
Lance!  Git  up,  France!"  to  the  horses,  and  the  carriage  wheels 
turned  and  they  passed  a  clump  of  cedars,  they  were  on  the  road 
that  the  grey  troops  had  travelled  no  great  chain  of  hours  before. 

They  drove  on  and  on,  and  now  they  overtook  and  passed  or 
kept  company  with  for  a  while  mournful  folk,  refugees,  people  with 
the  noise  of  falling  walls  in  their  ears.  They  had  tales  to  tell  and 
some  were  dreadful  enough.  Then  for  a  time  the  road  would  be  bare, 
a  melancholy  road,  much  cut  to  pieces,  with  ruts  and  hollows. 
Now  and  then  in  dropped  haversack,  or  broken  bayonet,  or  torn  shoe, 
or  blood-stained  rag  were  visible  tokens  that  soldiers  had  passed. 


THE   ROAD   TO   WINNSBORO'         429 

They  had  a  little  food  and  they  ate  this,  and  now  and  then  they 
talked  in  low  voices,  but  for  the  most  part  they  sat  silent,  looking 
out  on  the  winter  landscape.  The  little  girl  was  restless,  and  Desiree 
told  her  French  fairy  stories,  quaint  and  fragrant.  At  last  she  slept, 
and  the  three  women  sat  in  silence,  looking  out.  In  the  late  after 
noon,  turning  a  little  from  the  main  road,  they  came  to  the  country 
house  for  which  they  were  bound. 

The  welcome  was  warm,  with  a  clamour  for  news.  "Columbia 
burned!  —  oh,  well-a-way!  .  .  .  No  Yankees  in  this  part  as  yet. 
Our  troops  went  by  yesterday  on  the  Winnsboro'  road.  It's  said 
they'll  wait  there  until  General  Hardee  gets  up  from  Charleston 
and  they  can  make  junction.  There  's  a  rumour  that  General 
Johnston  will  be  put  in  command.  Oh,  the  waiting,  waiting! 
One's  brain  turns,  looking  for  the  enemy  to  come,  looking  for  the 
South  to  fall  —  worse  and  worse  news  every  day !  If  one  were  with 
the  Army  it  would  not  be  half  so  bad.  Waiting,  waiting  here 's  the 
worst!" 

In  this  Desiree  agreed.  It  was  away  in  a  wood  and  upon  a  creek 
like  the  Fusilier  place.  The  army  was  no  great  distance  further  on, 
and  halted.  In  a  day  or  two  it  would  move,  away,  away !  Her  whole 
being  cried  out,  'I  cannot  stay  here!  If  it  comes  to  danger,  this 
lonely  place  will  be  burned  like  the  others.  I  were  safer  there  than 
here.  And  what  do  I  care  for  danger  ?  Have  I  not  travelled  with 
danger  for  two  years?  " 

That  night  when,  exhausted,  she  fell  asleep,  she  had  a  dream. 
She  was  back  in  Dalton,  in  the  house  with  the  lace-handkerchief 
dooryard.  She  was  on  her  knees,  cording  a  hair  trunk,  and  the  old 
negro  Nebuchadnezzar  and  his  horse  Julius  Csesar  were  waiting. 
Somebody  —  it  was  not  the  two  sisters  who  lived  in  the  house  —  but 
somebody,  she  could  not  make  out  who  it  was  —  was  persuading 
her  to  stay  quietly  there,  not  to  take  the  road  to  Resaca.  At  first 
she  would  not  listen,  but  at  last  she  did  listen  and  said  she  would 
stay.  And  then  at  once  she  was  at  Cape  Jessamine  and  the  house 
was  filled  with  people  and  there  was  dancing.  Everything  was  soft 
and  bright  and  a  myriad  of  wax  candles  were  burning,  and  the 
music  played  and  they  talked  about  going  to  New  Orleans  for  Mardi- 
gras  and  what  masks  they  should  wear.  And  she  was  exceedingly 
happy,  with  roses  in  her  hair  and  an  old  gold-gown.  But  all  the  time 


430  CEASE  FIRING 

she  was  trying  to  remember  something  or  somebody,  and  it  troubled 
her  that  she  eould  not  bring  whatever  it  was  to  mind.  And  then, 
though  she  still  danced,  and  though  there  stayed  a  gleaming  edge  of 
floor  and  light  and  flowers  and  moving  people,  the  rest  rolled  away 
into  darkness  and  a  battlefield.  She  saw  the  stars  above  it  and 
heard  the  wind,  and  then  she  left  the  dancers  and  the  lights  and  they 
faded  away  and  she  walked  on  the  battlefield,  but  still  there  was 
something  she  could  not  remember.  She  was  unhappy  and  her 
heart  ached  because  she  could  not.  And  then  she  came  to  a  corner 
of  the  field  where  were  dark  vines  and  broken  walls,  and  a  voice 
came  to  her  out  of  it,  "Desiree!  Desiree!"  She  remembered  now 
and  knew  that  Edward  lay  there,  and  she  cried,  "I  am  coming!" 
But  even  so  the  dream  turned  again,  and  she  was  back  in  the  house 
with  the  lace-handkerchief  yard,  and  the  hair  trunk  was  being 
carried  back  into  the  house  and  up  the  stairs,  and  the  wagon  at  the 
gate  turned  and  went  away  without  her.  Then  there  was  darkness 
again,  and  the  cave  at  Vicksburg,  and  a  cry  in  her  ears,  "Desiree! 
Desiree/" 

She  waked,  and,  trembling,  sat  up  in  bed.  "If  I  had  not  gone 
from  Dalton,"  she  said,  "he  would  have  died."  She  rose,  crossed 
the  room  to  a  window  and  set  it  wide.  It  looked  across  the  wood 
toward  the  road  they  had  left,  the  Winnsboro'  road.  She  stood 
gazing,  in  the  night  wind,  the  winter  wind.  There  was  a  faint  far 
light  upon  the  horizon.  Rightly  or  wrongly,  she  thought  it  was  the 
camp-fires  of  the  grey  army.  Another  night  and  they  would  be  fur 
ther  away  perhaps,  another  night  and  further  yet!  Sooner  or  later 
there  would  be  the  battle,  and  the  dead  and  the  wounded  left  on  the 
field.  The  wind  blew  full  upon  her,  wrapping  her  white  gown 
closely  about  her  limbs,  lifting  her  dark  hair.  " Desiree!  Desiree!" 
The  dream  cry  was  yet  in  her  ears,  and  there  on  the  horizon  flamed 
his  camp-fires. 

When  morning  came  she  begged  a  favour  of  her  new  friends  in 
this  place.  Could  they  let  her  have  a  cart  and  a  horse,  anything 
that  might  take  her  to  Winnsboro'?  They  said  that  if  she  must  go 
she  should  have  the  carriage  and  horses  and  the  old  driver  of  yes 
terday,  but  surely  it  was  not  wise  to  go  at  all !  News  was  here  this 
morning  that  the  ravage  north  of  Columbia  had  begun.  All  this 
ceuntry  would  be  unsafe  —  was  perhaps  unsafe  at  this  moment  and 


THE  ROAD   TO   WINNSBORO'         431 

henceforth!  No  one  expected  this  house  to  be  spared  —  why 
should  it  be,  more  than  another?  —  but  at  least  it  was  not  burned 
yet,  and  it  was  better  to  face  what  might  come  in  company  than 
alone !  "  Stay  with  us,  my  dear,  stay  with  us ! "  But  when  she  would 
go  on,  they  understood.  It  was  a  time  of  wandering  and  of  much 
travel  under  strange  and  hard  conditions.  As  for  danger  —  when 
it  was  here  and  there  and  everywhere  what  use  in  dwelling  on  it? 
No  one  could  say  with  any  knowledge,  "Here  is  safety,"  or  "There 
is  danger."  The  shuttle  was  so  rapid!  What  to-day  seemed  the 
place  of  safety  was  to-morrow  the  very  centre  of  danger.  What  was 
to-day's  field  of  danger  might  become  to-morrow,  the  wave  rushing 
on,  quiet  of  foes  as  any  desert  strand!  —  Desiree  kissed  her  friends 
and  went  away  in  the  old  carriage  toward  the  Winnsboro'  road. 

The  morning  was  dull  and  harsh  with  scudding  clouds.  The  side 
road  was  as  quiet  as  death,  but  when  they  came  upon  the  broader 
way  there  grew  a  difference.  The  old  negro  looked  behind  him. 
"  Dere  Js  an  awful  fuss,  mistis,  ener  dust !  des  lak  de  debbil  got  loose ! " 

"Drive  fast,"  said  Desiree.  "If  you  come  to  a  lane  turn  into  it." 

But  the  road  went  straight  between  banks  of  some  height,  with 
out  a  feasible  opening  to  either  hand.  Moreover,  though  the  driver 
used  the  whip  and  the  horses  broke  into  something  like  a  gallop,  the 
cloud  of  dust  and  the  noise  behind  steadily  gained.  There  came  a 
round  of  pistol  shots.  "  They  are  firing  at  us,"  said  Desiree.  "Check 
the  horses  and  draw  the  carriage  to  the  side  of  the  road." 

Dust  and  noise  enveloped  them.  A  foraging  party,  twenty  jovial 
troopers,  drew  rein,  surrounded  the  carriage,  declined  to  molest  or 
trouble  the  lady,  but  claimed  the  carriage-horses  in  the  name  of  the 
Union. 

They  cut  the  traces  and  took  them,  Desiree  standing  by  the  road 
side  watching.  These  men,  she  thought,  were  much  like  schoolboys, 
in  wild  spirits,  ready  for  rough  play  but  no  malice.  She  was  so  used 
to  soldiers  and  used  to  seeing  in  them  such  sudden,  rough  and  gay 
humour  as  this  that  she  felt  no  fear  at  all.  When  a  freckled,  humor 
ous-faced  man  came  over  and  asked  her  if  she  had  far  to  travel,  and 
if  she  really  minded  walking,  she  answered  with  a  wit  and  compos 
ure  that  made  him  first  chuckle,  then  laugh,  then  take  off  his  cap 
and  make  her  a  bow.  The  troop  was  in  a  hurry.  When  it  had  the 
horses  and  had  joked  and  laughed  and  caracoled  enough,  off  it  pre- 


432  CEASE   FIRING 

pared  to  go  in  another  cloud  of  dust.  But  the  freckled  man  came 
back  for  a  moment  to  Desiree.  "If  I  may  make  so  bold,  ma'am," 
he  said,  "I'd  suggest  that  you  don't  do  much  walking  on  this 
road,  and  that  as  soon  as  you  come  to  a  house  you  ask  the  people 
to  let  you  take  pot-luck  with  them  for  a  while!  The  army 's  coming 
on,  and  we've  got  plenty  of  bands  out  that  don't  seem  ever  to  have 
had  any  good  womenfolk  to  teach  them  manners.  If  you'll  take  a 
friend's  advice  you  '11  stop  at  the  nearest  house  —  though  of  course, 
in  these  times,  that  ain't  very  safe  neither! " 

The  carriage  had  the  forlornest  air,  stranded  there  in  the  road, 
beneath  a  sky  so  cloudy  that  now  there  threatened  a  storm.  The 
negro  driver  was  old  and  slightly  doddering.  Moreover,  when  she 
said,  "Well,  Uncle,  now  we  must  walk!"  he  began  to  plain  of  his 
rheumatism.  She  found  that  it  was  actual  enough;  he  would  be 
able  to  walk  neither  fast  or  far.  She  looked  behind  her.  A  league 
or  two  back  lay  the  turning  that  would  lead  to  the  house  she  had 
quitted.  .  .  .  But  she  shook  her  head.  She  had  made  her  choice. 

A  mile  from  where  they  left  the  carriage  they  found  at  a  cross 
roads  the  cabin  of  some  free  negroes  —  a  man  and  a  woman  and 
many  children.  Here  Desiree  left  her  companion.  If  she  took  the 
narrower  road,  where,  she  asked,  would  it  lead  her?  Could  she 
reach  Winnsboro'  that  way?  —  Yes,  if  she  went  on  to  a  creek  and 
a  mill,  and  if  then  she  took  the  right-hand  road.  No,  it  was  n't 
much  out  of  the  way  —  three  or  four  miles. 

"And  a  quiet,  safe  road?" 

"Yaas,  ma'am.  Jus'  er-runnin'  along  quiet  by  itself.  Hit  ain't 
much  travelled." 

"But  it  will  bring  me  to  Winnsboro'  ?" 

"Yaas,  ma'am.  Quicker 'n  de  main  road  wif  all  dese  armies 
hollerin'  down  it." 

"Those  men  who  went  by  a  little  while  ago  —  were  they  the  first 
to  pass  to-day?" 

"No,  ma'am,  dat  dey  was  n't!   En  dey  was  sober,  Lawd!" 

"And  they've  all  kept  on  the  main  road?" 

"Yaas,  ma'am.     All  taken  de  main  road." 

She  looked  down  the  road  she  had  come  —  the  main  road.  Here 
was  another  cloud  of  dust;  she  heard  a  faint  shouting.  She  had  with 
her  some  Confederate  notes,  and  now  she  put  one  of  a  large  denom- 


THE   ROAD   TO   WINNSBORO'         433 

ination  into  the  hand  of  the  old  driver,  nodded  good-bye,  and  turned 
into  the  narrow  way,  that  seemed  merely  a  track  through  the  forest. 
Almost  immediately,  as  she  came  beneath  the  arching  trees,  the 
cabin,  the  negro  family,  the  gleaming,  wider  road  sank  away  and 
were  lost. 

She  walked  lightly  and  swiftly.  She  might  have  been  wearied. 
For  a  month  now  she  had  known  that  she  carried  life  beneath  her 
heart.  But  she  did  not  feel  wearied.  She  felt  strong  and  well  and 
deathless.  The  miles  were  not  many  now  before  her.  With  good 
luck  she  might  even  reach  her  goal  to-night.  If  not  to-night  then 
she  would  sleep  where  she  might  and  go  forward  at  dawn.  Before 
another  sun  was  high  it  would  be  all  right  —  all  right.  The  clouds 
began  to  lift,  and  though  it  was  cold  it  did  not  seem  so  cold  to  her 
as  it  had  been.  At  long  intervals  she  passed,  set  back  from  the  road, 
small  farmhouses  or  cabins  in  ragged  gardens.  Most  of  these  houses 
looked  quite  deserted;  others  had  every  shutter  closed,  huddling 
among  the  trees  with  a  frightened  air.  As  the  afternoon  came  on  the 
houses  grew  further  apart.  The  road  was  narrow,  untravelled  of 
late  —  it  seemed  a  lonely  country.  ...  At  last  she  came  to  the 
promised  creek  and  the  mill.  The  mill-wheel  was  not  turning,  no 
miller  and  his  men  stood  about  the  door,  no  horses  with  sacks 
thrown  across  waited  without.  There  was  no  sign  of  life.  But  the 
miller's  house  was  behind  the  mill,  and  here  she  saw  a  face  at  a  win 
dow.  She  went  and  knocked  at  the  door.  An  old  woman  opened  to 
her.  "  Be  the  Yankees  coming  ?  "  she  said. 

Desiree  asked  for  a  bit  of  bread,  and  to  warm  herself  beside  the 
fire.  While  she  ate  it,  crouched  in  the  warm  corner  of  the  kitchen 
hearth,  the  old  woman  took  again  her  post  at  the  window.  "I  keep 
a-watching  and  a-watching  for  them  to  come ! "  she  said.  "  They  've 
got  a  spite  against  mills.  My  father  built  this  one,  and  when  he  died 
my  husband  took  it,  and  when  he  died  my  boy  John.  The  wheel 
turned  when  I  was  little,  and  when  I  was  grown  and  had  a  lover,  and 
when  I  was  married  and  when  there  were  children.  It  turned  when 
there  was  laughing  and  when  there  was  crying.  The  sound  of  the 
water  over  it  and  the  flashing  is  the  first  thing  I  can  remember.  I 
used  to  think  it  would  be  the  last  thing  I  'd  hear  when  I  came  to  die, 
and  I  kind  of  hoped  it  would.  I  liked  it.  It  was  all  mixed  up  with 
all  kinds  of  things.  But  now  I  reckon  before  this  time  to-morrow 


434  CEASE  FIRING 

it'll  be  burned.  They've  got  a  spite  against  mills.  —  Won't  you 
stay  the  night?" 

But  there  was  an  hour  yet  before  sunset.  The  road  to  Winnsboro'  ? 
Yes,  that  was  it,  and  it  was  only  so  many  miles.  The  army  ?  Yes, 
she  thought  the  army  was  still  there.  Yesterday  there  had  been 
what  they  called  a  reconoissance  this  way.  A  lot  of  grey  soldiers 
had  passed,  going  down  to  the  Columbia  road  and  back. 

Desiree  rose  refreshed,  gave  her  thanks  and  went  her  way.  A 
wind  bent  the  trees  and  tore  and  heaped  the  clouds.  The  low  sun 
shone  out  and  turned  the  clouds  into  purple  towers,  fretted  and 
crowned  with  gold.  The  rays  came  to  Desiree  like  birds  and  flowers 
of  hope.  For  all  the  woe  of  the  land  her  heart  began  to  sing.  She 
walked  on  and  on,  not  conscious  of  weariness,  moving  as  though  she 
were  on  air,  drawn  by  a  great  magnet.  The  clouds  were  enchanted 
towers,  the  sky  between,  a  waveless  sea;  the  wind  at  her  back,  driv 
ing  her  on,  was  welcome,  the  odour  of  woods  and  earth  was  welcome. 
On  and  on  she  went,  steady  and  swift,  an  arrow  meaning  to  pierce 
the  gold. 

Suddenly,  with  a  shock,  the  enchantment  went.  The  wind,  blow 
ing  with  her,  brought  a  distant,  confused  sound.  She  turned.  It  was 
sunset,  the  earth  was  suddenly  stern  and  dark.  Above  the  woods, 
back  the  way  she  had  come,  rose  thick  smoke.  She  knew  it  for  what 
it  was,  knew  that  some  one  of  Sherman's  roving  bands  was  there  at 
the  mill,  burning  it  down.  She  stood  with  knit  brows,  for  now  she 
heard  men  upon  the  road.  The  ground  here  rose  slightly,  the  road 
running  across  a  desolate,  open  field,  covered  with  sedge,  from 
which  rose  at  intervals  tall,  slender  pines.  Their  trunks  and  bushy 
heads  outlined  against  the  sky,  that  was  now  all  flushed  with  car 
mine,  gave  them  a  curious  resemblance  to  palm  trees.  West  of  the 
road,  half  way  across  the  sedgy  stretch,  ran  a  short  and  ruined  wall 
of  stones,  part  of  some  ancient  enclosure.  Behind  it  showed  again 
the  darker,  thicker  wood.  Desiree,  leaving  the  road,  went  toward 
this,  but  she  had  hardly  stepped  from  the  trodden  way  into  the  sedge 
when  behind  her  at  the  turn  of  the  road  appeared  a  man  in  uniform. 
She  was  above  him,  clear  against  the  great  suffusion  of  the  sunset 
sky.  He  stared  a  moment,  then  turned  his  head  and  whooped, 
whereupon  there  appeared  half  a  dozen  of  his  fellows. 

They  caught  up  with  her  just  as  she  reached  the  broken  wall. 


THE   ROAD   TO   WINNSBORO'         435 

She  saw  that  without  exception  they  were  drunk,  and  she  set  her 
back  against  the  stones  and  prepared  to  fight. 

Five  thousand  men  could  not  meet  in  battle  sixty  thousand,  but 
they  could  and  did  send  out  reconnoitring  bodies  that  gathered 
news  of  Sherman,  tarrying  yet  upon  the  Congaree,  and  gave  some 
sense  of  protection  to  the  country  people  and  gave  sharp  lessons  to 
the  marauding  parties  that  now  and  again  they  met  with.  By  mov 
ing  here  and  there  they  made  a  rumour,  too,  of  gathering  grey  troops 
and  larger  numbers,  of  reinforcements  perhaps  from  North  Carolina, 
of  at  any  rate  grey  forces  and  some  one  to  play  now  protector,  now 

avenger.  So  it  was  that  on  this  winter  afternoon  the th  Virginia, 

three  or  four  hundred  muskets,  with  a  small  detachment  of  cavalry 
going  ahead,  found  itself  marching  down  the  main  road,  fifteen  miles 
toward  Columbia.  It  knew  by  now  of  the  burning  of  Columbia. 
"Everything  in  ashes  —  houses  and  stores  and  churches  and  a 
convent.  The  people  with  neither  food  nor  shelter  —  going  where 
they  can."  Grey  cavalry  and  infantry  asked  nothing  better  than 
to  meet  its  foes  to-day.  So  great,  around  the  blue  army,  was  the 
fringe  of  foragers  and  pillagers  and  those  engaged  in  "making  the 
country  untenable  for  the  enemy,"  that  the  grey  did  meet  to-day 
various  bands  of  plunderers.  When  they  did  they  gave  short  shrift, 
but  charged,  firing,  cut  them  down  and  rode  them  over  and  chased 
them  back  toward  Columbia  and  their  yet  stationary  great  force. 
The  grey's  humour  to-day  was  a  grim  and  furious  humour. 

The th  Virginia  passed  a  cross-roads,  and  a  little  later  came 

to  something  that  aroused  comment  among  the  men.  It  was  an 
empty,  old-fashioned  carriage,  standing  without  horses,  half  on  the 
road,  half  over  the  edge.  "Looks,"  said  the  men,  "like  the  ark  on 
Ararat!"  — "Forlorn,  ain't  it?"  —  "Where's  the  horses  and  the 
people  who  were  in  it?"  —  "Reckon  those  Yanks  before  us  took 
the  horses.  As  for  the  people  —  I  'd  rather  be  a  humming-bird  in 
winter  than  the  people  in  this  State! " 

Edward  Cary  rode  across  and  checking  his  horse,  leaned  from  the 
saddle  and  looked  into  the  carriage  —  why,  he  hardly  knew,  unless 
it  was  that  once  in  Georgia  they  had  found  a  carriage  stranded  like 
this,  and  in  it  a  child  asleep.  There  was  in  this  one  nothing  living. 
.  .  .  Just  as  he  straightened  himself  he  caught  a  glint  of  something 


436  CEASE  FIRING 

small  and  golden  lying  in  a  corner.  He  dismounted,  drew  the  swing 
ing  door  further  open  and  picked  it  up.  It  was  a  locket,  and  he  had 
had  it  in  his  hands  before. 

He  remembered  passing,  a  little  way  back,  a  negro  cabin.  After 
a  word  to  the  commanding  officer  he  galloped  back  to  this  place. 
Yes,  they  could  tell  him,  and  did.  "She  took  this  road  ?"  "  Yaas, 
sah.  Long  erbout  midday.  We  done  tol'  her  erbout  de  creek  en  de 
mill  en  de  right-han'  road  — " 

"Has  any  one  else  gone  by  this  road  ?  Any  soldiers  ? " 

"Yaas,  sah.  Right  smart  lot  ob  soldiers.  Dey  ax  where  dat  road 
go,  en  I  say  hit  go  to  de  mill.  Den  dey  say  dey  gwine  burn  de  mill, 
en  dey  goes  dat  way.  I  reckon  hits  been  mo  'n  three  hours  ergo,  sah." 

It  was  dusk  when  Edward  Gary  and  twenty  cavalrymen  turned 
into  this  road,  and  it  had  been  night  for  some  time  when  they  came 
to  the  reddened  place  where  had  stood  the  mill.  It  was  all  down 
now,  though  the  flames  were  yet  playing  through  the  mass  of  fallen 
timbers.  The  mill-wheel  was  a  wreck,  the  miller's  house  behind  was 
burned.  There  were  no  soldiers  here:  they  had  destroyed  and  were 
gone.  But  out  from  some  hiding-place  came  an  old  woman  who 
seemed  distraught.  She  stood  in  the  flickering  glow  and  said, 
"Yankees!  Yankees!"  and  "They  took  an  axe  and  killed  the  mill- 
wheel!" 

Edward  spoke  to  her,  soothed  her,  and  at  last  she  drew  her  wits 
together,  talked  to  him,  and  answered  his  questions.  "Yes,  a  wo 
man  had  been  there  and  had  left  a  little  before  sunset.  Yes,  dressed 
so  and  so  —  a  beautiful  woman.  Yes,  she  had  gone  by  that  road, 
walking  away  alone.  She  said  good-bye  and  then  she  had  seen  and 
heard  nothing  more  of  her.  Then,  in  a  little,  little  time,  came  the 
Yankees.  Some  of  them  were  drunk,  and  she  had  run  out  of  the 
house  and  hid  within  a  brush  heap.  .  .  .  And  now  the  mill-wheel 
would  never  turn  again." 

"Which  road  did  they  take  when  they  left  —  the  Winnsboro' 
road  or  that  one  running  south?" 

She  was  not  sure.  She  thought  the  one  running  south  —  but 
maybe  some  went  one  way,  some  another.  She  did  not  know  how 
many  there  were  of  them.  They  were  on  foot  and  horseback,  too. 
Her  eyes  strayed  to  where  the  wheel  had  been,  and  she  fell  again  to 
plucking  at  her  apron. 


THE   ROAD   TO   WINNSBORO'         437 

Gary  and  his  men  took  the  right-hand  road.  It  lay  quiet  as  death 
beneath  the  winter  stars.  They  travelled  it  slowly,  looking  from 
side  to  side,  but  if  there  were  signs  that  an  enemy  had  been  that 
way,  in  the  darkness  they  could  not  read  them.  Neither  did  they 
see  any  sign  of  a  solitary  traveller.  All  was  quiet,  with  only  the 
sighing  of  the  wind.  At  last,  nearing  Winnsboro',  they  came  to  their 
own  picket-line.  Camped  by  the  road  was  a  cavalry  post.  Edward 
spoke  with  the  men  here.  "No.  A  quiet  night  —  nothing  seen  and 
nothing  heard  out  of  the  way.  No  one  had  passed  —  no,  no 
woman." 

Gary  turned  in  his  saddle  and  looked  behind  him.  Clear  night, 
and  dark  and  still  through  all  the  few  miles  between  this  place 
which  she  had  not  passed  and  the  mill  which  she  had.  .  .  .  The  men 
with  him  had  been  in  the  saddle  since  dawn.  They  were  weary 
enough,  and  under  orders  to  report  that  night  at  Winnsboro'. 
At  the  end  he  sent  on  upon  the  road  well-nigh  all  the  troop,  then 
turned  himself  and  with  but  three  or  four  horsemen  behind  him, 
began  to  retrace  the  road  to  the  mill.  Light  and  sound  of  the  picket 
post  died  behind  him,  there  came  only  the  quiet  miles  of  a  lonely 
country  and  the  stars  above. 

The  night  was  old  when,  suddenly,  near  again  to  the  burned  mill, 
there  burst  out  of  a  by-path  the  men  who  had  burned  it.  They 
had  taken  the  southward  running  road,  had  burned  two  houses  that 
lay  that  way,  then  encountering  rough  country  and  a  swollen  river, 
had  elected,  horse  and  foot,  to  march  back  the  way  they  came. 
Now,  emerging  suddenly  upon  the  wider  road,  they  saw  before  them 
four  horsemen,  divined  that  they  were  grey,  and  with  a  shout  joined 
battle. 

"They  are  six  to  one,  men!"  cried  Gary.    "Save  yourselves!" 

There  came  the  crash.  He  fired  twice,  emptying  a  saddle  and  giv 
ing  a  ball  in  the  shoulder  to  the  half-drunken  giant  who  seemed 
to  be  leading.  Then  with  oaths  three  pushed  against  him.  His 
horse  reared,  screamed  and  fell,  pierced  by  bullets.  He  leaped  clear 
of  the  saddle  and  fired  again,  breaking  a  man's  raised  sabre  arm. 
There  was  a  blinding  flash,  a  deafening  sound  —  down,  down  he 
went  into  blackness  and  silence,  into  night  deep  as  the  nadir.  .  .  . 

When  he  came  slowly,  slowly  back  to  feeling  and  consciousness  he 
was  alone.  It  was  dawn,  he  saw  that.  For  a  long  time  there  seemed 


438  CEASE   FIRING 

nothing  but  the  fact  of  dawn.  Then  he  suddenly  rested  his  hand  on 
the  earth  and  tried  to  lift  himself.  With  the  vain  effort  and  the  pain 
it  brought  came  a  troubled  memory.  He  put  his  hand  to  his  side 
and  felt  the  welling  blood.  The  wound,  he  presently  saw,  was  deep 
and  hopeless,  deep  enough  to  let  death  in.  His  head  fell  back 
against  the  bank  behind  him  and  he  faced  the  dawn.  He  was  lying 
at  the  edge  of  the  road,  his  dead  horse  near.  All  noise  and  war  and 
strife  were  gone,  the  three  or  four  men  who  had  been  with  him  cut 
down,  or  taken  prisoner,  or  fled,  the  blue  triumphant  band  gone  its 
way.  There  was  an  utter  stillness,  and  the  dawn  coming  up  'cool  and 
pure  like  purple  lilies.  He  slightly  turned  his  head.  About  him  was 
a  field  of  sedge  with  scattered  pines.  The  wind  was  laid,  and  it  was 
not  cold.  He  knew  that  his  hurt  was  mortal.  .  .  .  Suddenly,  as  from 
another  world,  there  came  to  him  a  very  faint  cry  —  half  cry  for 
help,  half  plaint  to  a  heaven  blind  and  deaf.  He  dragged  himself 
to  his  knees,  with  his  hand  cleared  the  mist  from  his  eyes  and  gazed 
across  an  half  acre  of  sedge  to  a  heap  of  ruined  stones  like  a  broken 
wall.  The  voice  rose  again,  faintly.  With  a  vast,  illuminating  rush 
came  fully  memory  and  knowledge,  and  like  a  dying  leap  of  the 
flame,  strength.  He  rose  and  crossed  the  sedge. 

She  was  lying  where  her  murderers  had  left  her,  beneath  the 
xuined  wall.  She  was  dying,  but  she  knew  him  when,  with  a  cry,  he 
fell  beside  her,  stretched  his  arms  above  her.  "Yes,"  she  said. 
"I  believed  that  you  would  come."  Then,  when  she  saw  the  blood 
upon  him,  "Are  you  going  with  me?" 

"Yes,  Love,"  he  said.  "Yes,  Love." 

The  great  dawn  climbed  stealthily,  from  tint  to  deeper  tint,  from 
height  to  height.  The  pine  trees  stood  like  dreaming  palms,  and  the 
sedge  spread  like  a  floor  of  gold.  "The  river! "  she  said,  "the  great 
river  that  is  going  to  eat  us  up  at  last!  How  it  beats  against  Cape 
Jessamine!" 

"When  I  saw  Cape  Jessamine  go  down,  I  thought  only '  If  I  were 
there!  If  I  were  with  her,  together  in  the  wave! ' ' 

Their  voices  died  to  whispers.  With  a  vague  and  fluttering  hand 
she  touched  his  brow  and  lips.  "  I  wanted  the  child  to  live  —  I 
wanted  that.  But  it  was  not  to  be  —  it  was  not  to  be  — " 

"Desiree!    Desiree!" 

A  smile  was  on  her  lips  —  almost  of  derision.  "  War  is  so  stupid," 
she  said. 


THE   ROAD   TO   WINNSBORO'         439 

Upon  the  purple  wall  of  the  east  a  finger  began  to  write  in  gold. 
The  mist  was  stirring  in  the  woods,  the  wind  beginning.  It  lifted 
her  dark,  loosened  hair,  that  was  so  wildly  spread.  It  brought  a 
drift  of  dead  leaves  across  them  where  they  lay.  They  lay  side  by 
side,  like  wreathed  figures  on  a  tomb.  "Is  it  light?"  she  asked. 
"Can  you  see  the  light  ?" 

"I  can  see  it  faintly.  It  is  like  the  sound  of  the  sea." 

"It  is  very  cold,"  she  breathed.   "Dark  and  cold." 

"Yes.  .  .  .  Dark  and  cold." 

"Give  me  your  hand,"  she  said.  "Kiss  me.  We  have  been 
happy,  and  we  will  be  so  again.  .  .  .  Now  I  am  going.  .  .  .  Dark, 
dark  — dark— " 

"Desiree— " 

"I  see  light  like  a  star.  .  .  .  Good-bye." 

She  died.  With  a  last  effort  he  moved  so  that  his  arms  were 
around  her  body  and  his  head  upon  her  breast,  and  then,  as  the  sun 
came  up,  his  spirit  followed  hers. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

THE   BEGINNING  OF   THE   END 

IN  this  February  the  grey  Congress  at  Richmond  created  the 
office  of  Commander-in-Chief  of  all  the  Confederate  Armies, 
and  appointed  to  it  Robert  Edward  Lee.  On  the  twenty-third 
Lee  telegraphed  to  Johnston,  then  at  Lincoln  ton,  North  Carolina: 

^'GENERAL  J.  E.  JOHNSTON:  — 

Assume  command  of  the  Army  of  Tennessee  and  all  troops  in 
the  Department  of  South  Carolina,  Florida,  and  Georgia.  Assign 
General  Beauregard  to  duty  under  you  as  you  may  select.  Con 
centrate  all  available  forces  and  drive  back  Sherman. 

R.  E.  LEE." 

"All  available  forces"  were  not  many,  indeed  they  were  very 
few,  but  such  as  they  were  Johnston  drew  them  together,  and  with 
them,  the  middle  of  March,  faced  Sherman  at  Bentonville.  "  Drive 
back  Sherman?"  Once  that  might  have  deen  done,  with  the  old 
Army  of  Tennessee.  It  could  not  be  done  now  with  the  handful  that 
was  left  of  that  army.  On  the  first  of  April  General  Sherman's 
effective  strength  is  given  for  all  three  arms,  as  something  over 
eighty-one  thousand  men.  Infantry  and  artillery  the  grey  had  on 
this  date  sixteen  thousand  and  fourteen  men,  with  a  little  above 
four  thousand  cavalry.  Bentonville  saw,  grey  and  blue,  an  almost 
equal  loss.  After  Bentonville  came  some  days  of  calm,  the  grey 
encamped  at  Smithfield,  the  blue  at  Goldsboro. 

But  through  the  pause  came  always  the  tolling  of  the  bells,  ring 
ing  loud  and  louder  — 

Early  in  February  Lee  at  Petersburg  wrote  to  the  Secretary  of 
War  as  follows.  "All  the  disposable  force  of  the  right  wing  of  the 
Army  has  been  operating  against  the  enemy  beyond  Hatcher's 
Run  since  Sunday.  Yesterday,  the  most  inclement  day  of  the 
winter,  the  men  had  to  be  retained  in  line  of  battle,  having  been  in 


THE  BEGINNING   OF   THE  END      441 

the  same  condition  the  two  previous  days  and  nights.  I  regret  to  be 
obliged  to  state  that  under  these  circumstances,  heightened  by 
assaults  and  fire  of  the  enemy,  some  of  the  men  had  been  without 
meat  for  three  days,  and  all  were  suffering  from  reduced  rations  and 
scant  clothing,  exposed  to  battle,  cold,  hail,  and  sleet.  .  .  .  The 
physical  strength  of  the  men,  if  their  courage  survives,  must  fail 
under  this  treatment.  Our  cavalry  had  to  be  dispersed  for  want  of 
forage.  Fitz  Lee's  and  Lomax's  divisions  are  scattered  because 
supplies  cannot  be  transported  where  their  services  are  required. 
I  had  to  bring  W.  H.  F.  Lee's  division  forty  miles  Sunday  night  to 
get  him  into  position.  Taking  these  facts  in  consideration  with  the 
paucity  of  our  numbers,  you  must  not  be  surprised  if  calamity 
befalls  us."  Bad  in  February,  it  was  no  better  in  March. 

Back  to  the  trenches  before  Petersburg  came,  because  they  were 
needed,  sundry  troops  that  had  fought  in  the  Valley.  Back  came 
what  was  left  of  the  Golden  Brigade,  and  what  was  left  of  the  Sixty- 
fifth  Virginia.  But  November  and  December  and  January,  well-nigh 
all  of  that  winter,  Richard  Cleave,  carried  across  the  mountains 
after  Cedar  Creek,  lay  at  Greenwood,  a  desperately  wounded 
soldier.  In  February  he  began  to  gather  strength,  but  the  latter 
half  of  that  month  found  him  still  a  prisoner  in  a  large,  high,  quiet 
room,  firelit  and  still. 

On  a  grey  afternoon,  with  a  few  flakes  of  snow  in  the  air,  turning 
from  the  window  toward  the  fire,  he  found  that  Unity  was  his 
nurse  for  this  twilight  hour.  She  lifted  her  bright  face  from  her 
hands.  "That  was  a  very  sad  sigh,  Richard!" 

He  smiled.  "Unity,  I  was  thinking.  .  .  .  I  have  not  been  a  very 
fortunate  soldier.  And  I  used  —  long  ago  —  to  think  that  I  would 
be." 

"Is  there  such  a  thing  as  a  fortunate  soldier?" 

He  smiled  again.  "That  depends.  —  Is  there  such  a  thing  as  a 
fortunate  war?  I  don't  know." 

His  mother  entered  the  room.  "It's  Cousin  William,  Richard. 
He  wants  to  come  in  and  talk  a  little  while." 

Cousin  William  appeared  —  seventy,  and  ruddy  yet,  with  a  gouty 
limb  and  an  indomitable  spirit.  "Ha,  Richard!  that's  more  like! 
You're  getting  colour,  and  some  flesh  on  your  bones!  When  are 
you  going  back  to  the  front  ?" 


442  CEASE  FIRING 

"Next  week,  sir." 

Cousin  William  laughed.  "Well,  call  it  the  week  after  that!" 
He  sat  by  the  couch  in  the  winged  chair.  The  firelight  played 
through  the  room,  lit  the  two  women  sitting  by  the  hearth,  and  the 
two  or  three  old  pictures  on  the  walls.  Outside  the  snow  fell  slowly, 
in  large,  quiet  flakes.  "Have  you  had  any  letters?"  asked  Cousin 
William. 

Unity  answered.  "One  from  Fauquier  yesterday.  None  from 
Edward  for  some  days.  The  last  was  just  a  line  from  Columbia 
written  before  the  troops  left  the  place  and  Sherman  came  and 
burned  it.  We  can't  but  feel  very  anxious." 

But  Cousin  William  could  not  endure  to  see  Greenwood  down 
cast.  "I  think  you  may  be  certain  they  are  safe.  —  What  did 
Fauquier  say?" 

"Just  that  since  Hatcher's  Run  there  had  been  comparative 
inaction.  He  said  that  the  misery  in  the  trenches  was  very  great, 
and  that  day  by  day  the  army  was  dwindling.  He  said  we  must  be 
prepared  now  for  the  worst." 

Cousin  William  flushed,  leaned  forward,  and  became  violently 
optimistic.  "You  tell  Fauquier  —  or  I'll  write  to  him  and  tell  him 
myself  —  that  that  is  no  way  to  talk!  It  is  no  way  for  his  father's 
son  to  talk,  or  his  grandfather's  grandson  to  talk!  I  am  sure, 
Richard,  that  you  don't  feel  that  way!" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  do  feel  that  way.  We  are  at  the  end." 

"At  the  end!"  ejaculated  Cousin  William.  "Absurd!  We  have 
held  Grant  eight  months  at  Petersburg!  —  Well,  say  that  General 
Lee  eventually  determines  to  withdraw  from  Petersburg!  What 
will  follow  ?  Lee  in  Virginia  and  Johnston  in  Carolina  have  the 
inner  lines.  Lee  will  march  south,  Johnston  will  march  north,  they 
will  join  armies,  first  crush  Sherman,  then  turn  and  destroy  Grant ! 
Richmond  ?  Well,  say  that  Richmond  is  given  up,  temporarily,  sir 
—  temporarily!  We  will  take  it  again  when  we  want  it,  and  if  they 
burn  it  we  will  rebuild  it!  Nothing  can  keep  it  from  being  our 
capital.  The  President  and  the  Cabinet  and  offices  can  remove 
for  a  time.  Who  knows  but  what  it  may  be  very  well  to  be  free  and 
foot-loose  of  defended  cities?  Play  the  guerilla  if  need  be!  Make 
our  capital  at  mountain  hamlet  after  mountain  hamlet,  go  from 
court-house  to  court-house  —  A  capital !  The  Confederacy  has  a 


THE  BEGINNING   OF   THE  END      443 

capital  in  every  single  Southern  heart  — "  Cousin  William  dashed 
his  hand  across  his  eyes.  "I'm  ashamed  to  hear  you  speak  so, 
Richard!  —  But  you're  a  sick  man  —  you're  a  sick  man!" 

"God  knows  what  should  be  done!"  said  Cleave.  "I  am  not  an 
easy  giver-up,  sir.  But  we  have  fought  until  there  is  little  breath 
in  us  with  which  to  fight  any  more.  We  have  fought  to  a  standstill. 
And  it  is  the  country  that  is  sick,  sick  to  death!" 

"Any  day  England  or  France  — " 

"Oh,  the  old,  old  dream— " 

"Say  then  it's  a  dream!"  cried  Cousin  William  angrily.  "Say 
that  is  a  dream  and  any  outer  dependence  is  a  dream!  The  spirit 
of  man  is  no  dream !  What  have  we  got  for  dependence  ?  We  have 
got,  sir,  the  spirit  of  the  men  and  women  of  the  South !  We  Ve  got 
the  unconquerable  and  imperishable!  We've  got  the  spiritual 
might!" 

But  Richard  shook  his  head.  "A  fire  burns  undoubtedly  and  a 
spirit  holds,  but  day  by  day  and  night  by  night  for  four  years  death 
has  come  and  death  has  come !  Half  the  bright  coals  have  been  swept 
from  the  hearth.  And  against  what  is  left,  sir,  wind  and  rain  and 
sleet  and  tempest  are  beating  hard  —  beating  against  the  armies 
in  the  field  and  against  the  country  in  the  field.  They  are  beating 
hard,  and  they  will  beat  us  down.  They  have  beaten  us  down.  It  is 
but  the  recognition  now." 

"Then  may  I  die,"  said  Cousin  William,  "before  I  hear  Virginia 
say, '  I  am  conquered ! '"  His  eyes  sparkled,  his  frame  trembled.  "Do 
you  think  they  will  let  it  rest  there,  sir!  No!  In  one  year  I  have 
seen  vindictiveness  come  into  this  struggle  —  yes,  I'll  grant  you 
vindictiveness  on  both  sides  —  but  you  say  that  theirs  is  the  win 
ning  side !  Then  I  tell  you  that  they  will  be  not  less  but  more  vin 
dictive!  For  ten  years  to  come  they  will  make  us  drink  the  water 
of  bitterness  and  eat  the  bread  of  humiliation !  Virginia  !  And  that 
second  war  will  be  worse  than  the  first!" 

He  rose.  "I  can't  stay  here  and  hear  you  talk  like  this!  I  suppose 
you  know  what  you're  talking  about,  but  you  people  in  the  field 
get  a  jaundiced  view  of  things!  I  'm  going  to  see  Noel.  Noel  and  I 
worked  it  all  out  last  night.  —  General  Lee  to  cut  loose  from  the 
trenches  at  Petersburg,  Johnston  to  strike  north,  then,  having  the 
inner  lines — "  And  so  on. 


444  CEASE   FIRING 

When  he  was  gone  Richard  laughed.  Unity,  the  log  in  her  hands 
with  which  she  was  about  to  replenish  the  fire,  looked  over  her 
shoulder.  " That's  sadder  than  sighing!"  she  said.  "Don't!" 

"What  shall  we  do?  "he  asked.  "Go  like  pieces  of  wood  for  a 
twelvemonth  —  sans  care,  sans  thinking,  sans  feeling,  sans  heart, 
sans  —  no,  not  sans  courage!" 

"No  —  not  sans  courage." 

"I  am  not  sad,"  he  said,  "for  myself.  It  would  be  strange  if  I 
were,  would  it  not,  to-day  ?  I  have  a  great,  personal  happiness. 
And  even  this  afternoon,  Unity  —  I  am  saying  good-bye,  as  one 
•of  the  generality,  to  despair,  and  pain,  and  wounded  pride,  and  fore 
boding,  and  unhappiness.  I  have  been  looking  it  in  the  face.  Such 
and  so  it  is  going  to  be  in  the  South,  and  perhaps  worse  than  we 
know  —  and  yet  the  South  is  neither  going  to  die  nor  despair !  — 
And  now  if  there  is  any  broth  I  surely  could  take  it!" 

Going  downstairs  Cousin  William  found  the  library  and  Miss 
Lucy.  "I  got  too  angry,  I  suppose,  with  Richard  —  but  to  lie  there 
talking  of  surrender!  Surrender!  I  tell  you,  Lucy,  —  but  there!  I 
can't  talk  about  it.  Better  not  begin." 

"Richard  is  a  strong  man,  William.  He's  not  the  weakly  despair 
ing  kind." 

"I  know,  Lucy,  I  know!  But  it  'snot  so  bad  as  he  thinks.  I  look 
for  a  big  victory  any  day  now.  .  .  .  Well !  let 's  talk  of  the  wedding. 
When 'sit  to  be?" 

"In  three  days.  The  doctor  says  he  may  come  downstairs 
to-morrow.  Corbin  Wood  will  marry  them,  here  in  the  parlour. 
Then,  in  a  few  days,  Richard  will  go  back  to  the  front.  .  .  .  Oh,  the 
sad  and  strange  and  happy  so  blended  together.  .  .  .  We  are  so 
desperate,  William,  that  the  road  has  turned  because  we  could  n't 
travel  it  so  any  longer  and  live!  There  's  a  strange  kind  of  calm, 
and  you  could  say  that  a  quiet  music  was  coming  back  into  life.  .  .  . 
If  only  we  could  hear  from  Edward!" 

The  sky  was  clear  on  Cleave's  and  Judith's  wedding-day.  The 
sun  shone,  the  winds  were  quiet,  there  was  a  feeling  in  the  air  as  of 
the  coming  spring.  Her  sisters  cut  from  the  house-plants  flowers 
for  Judith's  hair;  there  fell  over  her  worn  white  gown  her  mother's 
wedding- veil.  The  servants  brought  boughs  of  cedar  and  bright 
berries,  and  with  them  decked  the  large  old  parlour,  where  the  shep- 


THE   BEGINNING   OF   THE   END      445 

herds  and  shepherdesses  looked  out  from  the  rose  wreaths  on  the 
wall  as  they  had  looked  when  Hamilton  and  Burr  and  Jefferson 
were  alive.  The  guests  were  few,  and  all  old  friends  and  kinsfolk, 
and  there  were,  beside,  Mammy  and  Julius  and  Isham  and  Scipio 
and  Esther  and  Car'line  and  the  others,  Tullius  among  them. 
A  great  fire  warmed  the  room,  shone  in  the  window-panes  and  the 
prisms  beneath  the  candles  and  the  polished  floor  and  the  old  gilt 
frames  of  the  Gary  portraits.  Margaret  Cleave  sat  with  her  hand 
shadowing  her  eyes.  Her  heart  was  here,  but  her  heart  was  also 
with  her  other  children,  with  Will  and  Miriam.  Molly,  who  was 
Miriam's  age,  kept  beside  her,  a  loving  hand  on  her  dress.  Cousin 
William  gave  away  the  bride.  An  artillery  commander,  himself 
just  out  of  hospital,  stood  with  Cleave.  —  Oh,  the  grey  uniforms,  so 
worn  and  weather-stained  for  a  wedding  party! 

It  was  over  —  the  guests  were  gone.  The  household,  tremulous, 
between  smiles  and  tears,  went  its  several,  accustomed  ways. 
There  was  no  wedding  journey  to  be  taken.  All  life  was  fitted  now 
to  a  Doric  simplicity,  a  grave  acceptance  of  realities  without  filagree 
adornment.  There  was  left  a  certain  fair  quietness,  limpid  sincerity, 
faith,  and  truth.  .  .  .  There  was  a  quiet,  cheerful  supper,  and  after 
wards  a  little  talking  together  in  the  library,  the  reading  of  the 
Richmond  papers,  Unity  singing  to  her  guitar.  Then  at  last  good- 
nights  were  said.  Judith  and  Cleave  mounted  the  stairs  together, 
entered  hand  in  hand  their  room.  The  shutters  were  all  opened; 
it  lay,  warmed  by  the  glowing  embers  on  the  hearth,  but  yet  in  a 
flood  of  moonlight.  His  arm  about  her,  they  moved  to  the  deep 
window-seat  above  the  garden,  knelt  there  and  looked  out.  Valley 
and  hill  and  distant  mountains  were  all  washed  with  silver. 

"The  moon  shone  so  that  April  night  — that  night  after  you 
overtook  the  carriage  upon  the  road  —  and  at  last  we  understood 
...  I  sat  here  all  that  night,  in  the  moonlight." 

"The  garden  where  I  said  good-bye  to  you,  a  hundred  years  ago, 
the  day  after  a  tournament.  ...  It  does  not  look  dead  and  cold 
and  a  winter  night.  It  looks  filled  with  lilies  and  roses  and  bright, 
waving  trees  —  and  if  a  bird  is  not  singing  down  there,  then  it 
must  be  singing  in  my  heart!  It  is  singing  somewhere!  —  Love  is 
best." 

"Love  is  best." 


446  CEASE   FIRING 

A  week  from  this  day  he  passed  through  Richmond  on  his  way 
to  the  front.  Richmond!  Richmond  looked  to  him  like  a  prisoner 
doomed,  and  yet  a  quiet  prisoner  with  a  smile  for  children  and  the 
azure  spaces  in  the  winter  sky.  People  were  going  in  streams  into 
the  churches.  The  hospitals,  they  said,  were  very  full.  In  all  the 
departments,  it  was  said,  the  important  papers  were  kept  packed 
in  boxes,  ready  to  be  removed  if  there  were  need.  No  one  any  longer 
noticed  the  cannon  to  the  south.  They  had  been  thundering  there 
since  June,  and  it  was  now  March.  There  was  very  little  to  eat. 
Milk  sold  at  four  dollars  a  quart.  And  yet  children  played  about 
the  doors,  and  women  smiled,  and  men  and  wornqn  went  about  the 
day's  work  with  sufficient  heroism.  "Dear  Dick  Ewell"  had  charge 
of  the  defences  of  Richmond,  the  slightly  manned  ring  of  forts,  the 
Local  Brigade,  Custis  Lee's  division  at  Chaffin's  Bluff.  In  the  high, 
clear  March  air,  ragged  grey  soldiers  passed,  honoured,  through  the 
streets,  bugles  blew,  or  drums  beat.  One  caught  the  air  of  Dixie. 

Cleave  rode  out  over  Mayo's  Bridge  and  south  through  the  war- 
scored  country  to  Petersburg  and  the  grey  lines,  to  division  head 
quarters  and  then  to  the  Golden  Brigade.  The  brigade  and  he  met 
like  tried  friends,  but  the  Sixty-fifth  and  he  met  like  lovers. 

The  lines  at  Petersburg !  —  stretched  and  stretched  from  the 
Appomattox,  east  of  the  town,  to  Five  Forks  and  the  White  Oak 
Road,  stretched  until  now,  in  places,  there  was  scarcely  more  than 
a  skirmish  line,  stretched  to  the  breaking-point!  The  trenches  at 
Petersburg !  —  clay  ditches  where  men  were  drenched  by  the  winter 
rains,  pierced  by  the  winter  sleet,  where  they  huddled  or  burrowed, 
scooping  shallow  caves  with  bayonet  and  tin  cup,  where  hands  and 
feet  were  frozen,  where  at  night  they  watched  the  mortar  shells, 
and  at  all  hours  heard  the  minies  keening,  where  the  smoke  hung 
heavy,  where  the  earth  all  about  was  raw  and  pitted,  where  every 
muscle  rebelled,  so  cramped  and  weary  of  the  trenches!  where 
there  were  double  watches  and  a  man  could  not  sleep  enough,  where 
there  were  nakedness  and  hunger  and  every  woe  but  heat,  where 
the  sharpshooters  picked  off  men,  and  the  minies  came  with  a 
whistle  and  killed  them,  and  the  bombs  with  a  shriek  and  worked 
red  havoc,  where  men  showed  a  thousand  weaknesses  and  again  a 
thousand  heroisms !  Oh,  the  labyrinth  of  trenches,  forts,  traverses, 
roads,  approaches,  raw  red  clay,  and  trampled  herbage,  hillock  and 


THE  BEGINNING  OF   THE  END      447 

hollow,  scored,  seamed,  and  pitted  mother  earth,  and  over  all  the 
smoke  and  noise,  blown  by  the  March  wind!  And  Petersburg  itself, 
that  had  been  a  pleasant  town,  was  a  place  of  ruined  houses  and 
deserted  streets !  A  bitter  havoc  had  been  wrought. 

The  night  of  his  return  to  the  front  Cleave  stood  with  Fauquier 
Gary  in  an  embrasure  whence  a  gun  had  just  been  taken  to 
strengthen  another  work,  stood  and  looked  first  over  the  red 
wilderness  of  their  own  camp-fires,  and  then  across  a  stripe  of  dark 
ness  to  the  long,  deep,  and  vivid  glow  that  marked  the  Federal  lines. 
The  night  was  cold  but  still,  the  stars  extraordinarily  bright.  "For 
so  long  in  that  quiet  room  at  Greenwood!"  said  Cleave.  "And  now 
this  again!  It  has  almost  a  novel  look.  There!  What  a  great  shell !" 

"Fireworks  at  the  end,"  answered  Gary.   "It  is  the  end." 

"Yes.  It  is  evident." 

"I  have  been,"  said  Gary,  "for  a  day  or  two  to  Richmond,  and 
I  was  shown  there  certain  papers,  memoranda,  and  estimates. 
I  wish  you  would  listen  to  three  or  four  statements  out  of  many.  — 
'Amount  needed  for  absolutely  necessary  construction  and  repair 
of  railroads  if  they  are  to  serve  any  military  purpose  $21,000,000.' 
—  'The  Commissary  debt  now  exceeds  $70,000,000.'  —  'The  debt 
to  various  factories  exceeds  $5,000,000.'  —  'The  Medical  Depart 
ment  asks  for  $40,000,000,  at  least  for  the  current  year.'  —  'The 
Subsistence  Bureau  and  the  Nitre  and  Mining  Bureau  as  well  as 
other  Departments  are  resorting  to  barter.'  —  'Requisitions  by 
the  War  Department  upon  the  Treasury  since  '61  amount  to 
$Ij737)746,i2i.  Of  the  requisition  for  last  year  and  this  year,  there 
is  yet  unfurnished  $160,000,000.  In  addition  the  War  Department 
has  a  further  arrearage  of  say  $200,000,000.'  —  This  was  a  letter 
from  one  of  the  up-river  counties  patriotically  proposing  the  use  of 
cotton  yarn  or  cloth  as  specie  —  thus  reducing  the  necessity  for 
the  use  of  Treasury  notes  to  the  smallest  possible  limit!  Let  us  see 
how  it  went.  —  First  it  proposed  the  removal  of  all  factories  to  safe 
points  near  the  mountains,  where  the  water-power  is  abundant  and 
approach  by  the  enemy  difficult.  Next  the  establishment  of  small 
factories  at  various  points  of  like  character.  Around  these,  as 
centres,  it  goes  on  to  say, '  the  women  of  our  country  who  have  been 
deprived  of  all  and  driven  from  their  homes  by  the  enemy  should  be 
collected,  together  with  the  wives  and  daughters  of  soldiers  and 


448  CEASE   FIRING 

others  in  indigent  circumstances.  There  they  would  not  be  likely 
to  be  disturbed  by  the  enemy.  Thus  distributed  they  could  be  more 
easily  fed,  and  the  country  be  greatly  benefited  by  their  labours, 
which  would  be  light  and  highly  remunerative  to  them,  thereby 
lessening  the  suffering  at  home  and  the  consequently  increasing 
discontent  in  the  army.  Cotton  would  be  near  at  hand,  labour 
abundant,  and  the  necessity  of  the  transportation  of  food  and 
material  to  and  from  great  centres  of  trade  greatly  reduced.  We 
would  furnish  the  women  of  the  country  generally  with  yarns 
and  a  simple  and  cheap  pattern  of  looms,  taking  pay  for  the  same 
in  cloth  made  by  them — '  et  caetera!  .  .  .  How  desperate  we 
are,  Richard,  to  entertain  ourselves  with  foolery  like  this!  —  But 
the  act  to  use  the  negroes  as  soldiers  will  go  through.  We  have 
come  to  that.  The  only  thing  is  that  the  war  will  be  ended  before 
they  can  be  mustered  in." 

They  turned  in  the  embrasure  and  looked  far  and  wide.  It 
seemed  a  world  of  camp-fires.  Far  to  the  east,  in  the  direction  of 
City  Point,  some  river  battery  or  gun-boat  was  sending  up  rockets. 
Westward  a  blue  fort  began  a  sullen  cannonade  and  a  grey  fort 
nearly  opposite  at  once  took  up  the  challenge.  "Fort  Gregg,"  said 
Gary,  "dubbed  by  our  men  'Fort  Hell,'  and  Fort  Mahone  called 
by  theirs  'Fort  Damnation.'" 

For  all  that  the  night  itself  was  so  clear  and  the  stars  so  high  and 
splendid,  there  was  a  murk  discernible  everywhere  a  few  feet  above 
the  earth,  rising  like  a  miasma,  with  a  faint,  distasteful  odour. 
Through  it  all  the  fires  lit  by  men  shone  blurred.  The  cannon  con 
tinued  to  thunder,  and  above  their  salients  gathered  clouds  of 
coppery  smoke.  A  half  brigade  passed  on  its  way  to  strengthen  some 
menaced  place,  and  a  neighbouring  fire  showed  in  series  its  face 
and  form.  The  men  looked  dead  for  sleep,  hollow-eyed,  hollow- 
cheeked.  They  dragged  their  limbs,  their  heads  drooped,  their 
shoulders  were  bowed.  They  passed  like  dull  and  weary  sheep. 
Fort  Hell  and  Fort  Damnation  brought  more  guns  into  action. 

Cleave  passed  his  hand  before  his  eyes.  "  It 's  not,"  he  said,  "  the 
way  to  settle  it." 

" Precisely  not,"  answered  Gary.  "It  is  not,  and  it  never  was,  and 
it  never  will  be.  And  that  despite  the  glamour  and  the  cry  of 
1  Necessity!'" 


THE  BEGINNING   OF   THE  END      449 

" Little  enough  glamour  to-night!" 

"I  agree  with  you.  The  glamour  is  at  the  beginning.  The 
necessity  is  to  find  a  more  heroic  way." 

The  two  went  down  from  the  embrasure  and  presently  said  good 
night.  Cleave  rode  on  —  not  to  the  house  in  which  he  was  quartered, 
but  to  the  portion  of  the  lines  where,  he  was  told,  would  be  found 
a  command  for  which  he  had  made  enquiry.  He  found  it  and  its 
colonel,  asked  a  question  or  two,  and  at  once  obtained  the  request 
which  he  made,  this  being  that  he  might  speak  to  a  certain  soldier 
in  such  a  company. 

The  soldier  came  and  faced  Cleave  where  the  latter  waited  for 
him  beside  a  deserted  camp-fire.  The  red  light  showed  both  their 
faces,  worn  and  grave  and  self-contained.  Off  in  the  night  and  dis 
tance  the  two  forts  yet  thundered,  but  all  hereabouts  was  quiet, 
the  fires  dying  down,  the  men  sinking  to  rest.  "  Stafford,"  said 
Cleave,  "I  have  been  lying  wounded  for  a  long  while,  and  I  have 
had  time  to  look  at  man's  life,  and  the  way  we  live  it.  It 's  all  a 
mystery,  what  we  do,  and  what  we  do  not  do,  and  we  stumble  and 
stumble!  .  .  ."  He  held  out  his  hand.  "Don't  let  us  be  enemies 
any  longer!" 


CHAPTER  XLII 

APRIL,    1865 

A  CONFEDERATE  soldier,  John  Wise,  speaks  of  the  General-in- 
Chief.    "I  have  seen  many  pictures  of  General  Lee,  but 
never  one  that  conveyed  a  correct  impression  of  his  appear 
ance.   Above  the  ordinary  size,  his  proportions  were  perfect.    His 
form  had  fullness,  without  any  appearance  of  superfluous  flesh,  and 
was  as  erect  as  that  of  a  cadet,  without  the  slightest  apparent  con 
straint.   No  representation  that  I  have  ever  seen  properly  conveys 
tke  light  and  softness  of  his  eye,  the  tenderness  and  intellectuality 
of  his  mouth,  or  the  indescribable  refinement  of  his  face.  .  .  . 

"  There  was  no  thing  of  the  pomp  or  panoply  of  war  about  the  head 
quarters,  or  the  military  government,  or  the  bearing  of  General 
Lee.  .  .  .  Persons  having  business  with  his  headquarters  were 
treated  like  human  beings,  and  courtesy,  considerateness,  and  even 
deference  were  shown  to  the  humblest.  He  had  no  gilded  retinue, 
but  a  devoted  band  of  simple  scouts  and  couriers  who,  in  their 
quietness  and  simplicity,  modelled  themselves  after  him.  .  .  .  The 
sight  of  him  upon  the  roadside  or  in  the  trenches  was  as  common  as 
that  of  any  subordinate  in  the  army.  When  he  approached  or  dis 
appeared,  it  was  with  no  blare  of  trumpets  or  clank  of  equipments. 
...  He  came  as  unostentatiously  as  if  he  had  been  the  head  of  a 
plantation  riding  over  his  fields  to  enquire  and  give  directions  about 
ploughing  or  seeding.  He  appeared  to  have  no  mighty  secrets 
concealed  from  his  subordinates.  He  assumed  no  airs  of  superior 
authority.  .  .  .  His  bearing  was  that  of  a  friend  having  a  common 
interest  in  a  common  venture  with  the  person  addressed,  and  as  if 
he  assumed  that  his  subordinate  was  as  deeply  concerned  as  himself 
in  its  success.  Whatever  greatness  was  accorded  to  him  was  not  of 
his  own  seeking.  .  .  .  But  the  impression  which  he  made  by  his 
presence,  and  by  his  leadership,  upon  all  that  came  in  contact  with 
him,  can  be  described  by  no  other  term  than  that  of  grandeur.  .  .  . 
The  man  who  could  so  stamp  his  impress  upon  his  nation  .  .  .  and 


APRIL,    1865  451 

yet  die  without  an  enemy;  the  soldier  who  could  make  love  for  his 
person  a  substitute  for  pay  and  clothing  and  food,  and  could,  by  the 
constraint  of  that  love,  hold  together  a  naked,  starving  band,  and 
transform  it  into  a  fighting  army;  the  heart  which,  after  the  failure 
of  its  great  endeavour,  could  break  in  silence,  and  die  without  the 
utterance  of  one  word  of  bitterness  —  such  a  man,  such  a  soldier, 
such  a  heart,  must  have  been  great  indeed  —  great  beyond  the 
power  of  eulogy." 

He  had  fifty  thousand  men  to  his  opponents'  hundred  and  odd 
thousand.  His  men  were  very  weary,  very  hungry,  very  worn.  He 
had  a  thirty-mile  line  to  keep,  and  behind  him  the  capital  of  his 
government  of  which  he  was  the  sole  defence.  For  months  there 
had  come  upon  his  ears,  resoundingly,  the  noise  of  disaster,  disaster 
in  every  ward  of  the  one-time  grey  fortress  of  the  South.  For  all 
victories  elsewhere  his  opponent  fired  salutes,  thundering  across  the 
winter  air  into  the  grey  lines,  listened  to  grimly,  answered  defiantly 
by  the  grey  trenches.  The  victories  in  Georgia  —  Winchester  and 
Cedar  Creek  —  Franklin  and  Nashville  —  Fort  Fisher  —  Savannah 
—  Columbia  —  Charleston  —  the  blue  salvoes  and  huzzahs  came 
with  frequency,  with  frequency!  And  ever  thinner  and  thinner  grew 
the  grey  ranks. 

.  .  .  There  was  but  one  last  hope  untried,  and  that  was  slignt 
indeed,  slight  as  gossamer.  Break  away  from  these  lines,  cover 
somehow  and  quickly  a  hundred  and  forty  southward-stretching 
miles,  unite  with  Johnston,  strike  Sherman,  turn  and  combat  with 
Grant!  How  slight  was  the  hope  Lee  perhaps  knew  better  than  any 
man.  But  he  had  accepted  a  trust,  and  hand  and  head  served  his 
cause  to  the  last. 

...  To  strike  aside  Grant's  left  wing,  with  a  last  deadly  blow, 
and  so  pass  out  — 

Fourteen  thousand  men,  under  Gordon,  were  given  the  attack 
upon  Fort  Stedman  and  the  three  forts  on  lifted  ground  beyond. 
On  the  twenty-fifth  of  March,  at  dawn,  the  assault  was  made  - 
desperately  made,  and  desperately  repulsed.  When  the  bitter  day 
was  over  the  blue  had  lost  two  thousand  men,  but  the  grey  had  lost 
twice  as  many. 

A.  P.  Hill  held  the  grey  right  from  Hatcher's  Run  to  Battery 
Gregg.  Gordon  had  the  centre.  Longstreet  held  from  the  Appomat- 


452  CEASE   FIRING 

tox  to  the  White  Oak  Road.  Now  on  the  twenty-ninth  of  March, 
Grant  planned  a  general  attack.  Sheridan  was  here  from  the  Valley, 
to  come  in  on  the  grey  rear  with  thirteen  thousand  horse.  Every 
corps  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  had  its  appointed  place  and  task 
in  a  great  movement  to  the  right.  Lee,  divining,  drew  from  his 
threadbare,  extended  lines  what  troops  he  might  and  placed  them 
at  Five  Forks,  confronting  the  Second  and  Fifth  blue  Corps, — 
Fitz  Lee's  and  W.  H.  F.  Lee's  cavalry,  say  four  thousand  horse, 
Pickett's  division,  thirty-five  hundred  muskets,  Anderson  with  as 
many  more.  All  the  night  of  the  twenty-ninth,  troops  were  moving 
in  a  heavy  rain. 

Through  the  dripping  day  of  the  thirtieth  sounded,  now  and 
again,  a  sullen  firing.  On  the  thirty-first  the  grey  attacked  —  at 
tacked  with  all  their  old  elan  and  fury  —  and  drove  Sheridan  back 
in  disorder  on  Dinwiddie  Court  House.  Night  came  down  and  made 
the  battle  cease.  There  dawned,  grey  and  still,  the  first  of  April. 
All  day  there  was  fighting,  but  in  the  dim  evening  came  the  catas 
trophe.  Like  a  great  river  that  has  broken  its  banks,  the  blue,  ad 
vancing  in  force,  overflowed  Pickett's  division.  .  .  .  The  grey  loss 
at  Five  Forks  was  five  thousand. 

With  the  morning  light  Grant  began  his  general  advance  upon 
Petersburg.  The  grey  trenches  fought  him  back,  the  grey  trenches 
that  were  now  no  more  than  a  picket  line,  the  grey  trenches  with 
men  five  yards  apart.  They  gave  him  pause  —  that  was  all  that 
they  could  do.  All  the  South  was  an  iron  bell  that  was  swinging  — 
swinging  — 

General  Lee  telegraphed  Breckinridge,  Secretary  of  War.  "It 
is  absolutely  necessary  that  we  abandon  our  position  to-night  or  run 
the  risk  of  being  cut  off  in  the  morning.  I  have  given  all  the  orders 
to  officers  on  both  sides  of  the  river,  and  have  taken  every  precau 
tion  I  can  to  make  the  movement  successful.  Please  give  all  orders 
that  you  find  necessary  in  and  about  Richmond.  The  troops  will 
all  be  directed  to  Amelia  Court  House." 

This  day  was  killed  A.  P.  Hill. 

In  Richmond,  twenty  miles  away,  the  second  of  April  was  a  day 
bright  and  mild,  with  the  grass  coming  up  like  emerald,  the  fruit 
trees  in  bloom,  white  butterflies  above  the  dandelions,  the  air  all 


APRIL,    1865  453 

sheen  and  fragrance.  It  was  Sunday.  All  the  churches  were  filled 
with  people.  The  President  sat  in  his  pew  at  Saint  Paul's,  grave  and 
tall  and  grey,  distinguished  and  quiet  of  aspect.  Here  and  there  in 
the  church  were  members  of  the  Government,  here  and  there  an 
officer  of  the  Richmond  defences.  Dr.  Minnegerode  was  in  the  pul 
pit.  The  sun  came  slantingly  in  at  the  open  windows,  —  sunshine 
and  a  balmy  air.  It  was  very  quiet  —  the  black-clad  women  sitting 
motionless,  the  soldiers  still  as  on  parade,  the  marked  man  in  the 
President's  pew  straight,  quiet,  and  attentive,  the  white  and  black 
form  in  the  pulpit  with  raised  hands,  speaking  of  a  supper  before 
Gethsemane  —  for  it  was  the  first  Sunday  in  the  month  and  com 
munion  was  to  follow.  The  sun  came  in,  very  golden,  very  quiet.  .  .  . 

The  sexton  of  Saint  Paul's  walked,  on  tiptoe,  up  the  aisle.  He 
was  a  large  man,  with  blue  clothes  and  brass  buttons  and  a  ruffled 
shirt.  Often  and  often,  in  these  four  years,  had  he  come  with  a  whis 
pered  message  or  a  bit  of  paper  to  this  or  that  man  in  authority.  He 
had  come,  too,  with  private  trouble  and  woe.  This  man  had  risen 
and  gone  out  for  he  had  news  that  his  son's  body  was  being  brought, 
into  town;  these  women  had  moved  gropingly  down  the  aisle,  be 
cause  the  message  said  father  or  brother  or  son  or  husband  .  .  . 
Saint  Paul's  was  used  to  the  sexton  coming  softly  up  the  aisle.  Saint 
Paul's  only  thought,  " Is  he  coming  for  me?"  —  "Is  he  coming  for 
me?" 

But  he  was  coming,  it  seemed,  for  the  President.  .  .  .  Mr. 
Davis  read  the  slip  of  paper,  rose  with  a  still  face,  and  went  softly 
down  the  aisle,  erect  and  quiet.  Eyes  followed  him;  many  eyes. 
For  all  it  was  so  hushed  in  Saint  Paul's  there  came  a  feeling  as  of 
swinging  bells.  .  .  .  The  sexton,  who  had  gone  out  before  Mr. 
Davis,  returned.  He  whispered  to  General  Anderson.  The  latter 
rose  and  went  out.  A  sigh  like  a  wind  that  begins  to  mount  went 
through  Saint  Paul's.  Indefinably  it  began  to  make  itself  known  that 
these  were  not  usual  summons.  The  hearts  of  all  began  to  beat,  beat 
hard.  Suddenly  the  sexton  was  back,  summoning  this  one  and  that 
one  and  the  other.  —  "Sit  still,  my  people,  sit  still,  my  people  1"  — 
but  the  bells  were  ringing  too  loudly  and  the  hearts  were  beating 
too  hard.  Men  and  women  rose,  hung  panting  a  moment,  then, 
swift  or  slow,  they  left  Saint  Paul's.  Going,  they  heard  that  the  lines 
at  Petersburg  had  been  broken  and  that  General  Lee  said  the  Gov 
ernment  must  leave  Richmond  —  leave  at  once. 


454  CEASE  FIRING 

Outside  they  stood,  men  and  women,  dazed  for  a  moment  in  the 
great  porch,  in  the  gay  light  of  the  sun.  The  street  was  filling  with 
people,  people  in  the  green,  climbing  Capitol  Square.  It  climbed  to 
the  building  Jefferson  had  planned,  to  the  great  white  pillars,  beyond 
and  between  which  showed  the  azure  spring  sky.  The  eyes  of  the 
people  sought  their  capitol.  They  rested,  too,  on  the  great  bronze 
Washington,  riding  his  horse  against  the  blue  sky,  with  Marshall 
and  Henry  and  Jefferson  and  Mason  and  Lewis  and  Nelson  about 
him.  Across  from  the  church  was  a  public  building  in  which  there 
were  Government  offices.  Before  this  building,  out  in  the  street,  a 
great  heap  of  papers  was  burning  with  a  light,  crackling  flame. 
"Government  papers,"  said  someone,  then  raised  his  eyes  to  the 
stars  and  bars  above  the  white  capitol  and  took  off  his  hat. 

All  day  the  fevered  city  watched  the  trains  depart,  all  day  wagons 
and  horsemen  passed  through  the  streets,  all  day  there  was  a  saying 
farewell,  farewell  —  farewell  to  many  things !  All  day  the  sun  shone, 
all  day  men  and  women  were  conscious  of  a  strange  shock  and  dizzi 
ness,  as  of  a  violent  physical  impact.  There  was  not  much,  perhaps, 
of  conscious  thought.  People  acted  instinctively,  automatically. 
Now  and  then  weeping  was  heard,  but  it  was  soon  controlled  and  it 
was  not  frequent.  This  was  shipwreck  after  four  years  of  storm, 
after  gulfs  of  despair  and  shining  shores  of  hope.  It  was  taken 
quietly,  as  are  many  shipwrecks. 

Night  came.  Custis  Lee's  troops  at  Chaffm's  Bluff,  eight  miles 
below  the  city,  began  to  withdraw,  crossing  the  river  by  pontoons. 
There  was  now  between  Richmond  and  Manchester  only  Mayo's 
Bridge,  guarded  by  a  company  or  two  of  the  Local  Brigade.  People 
were  down  by  the  river,  many  people.  It  seemed  to  give  them  com 
pany,  swollen  like  their  own  hearts,  rushing  between  its  rocky  islets, 
on  and  down  to  the  boundless  sea.  Others  wandered  through  the 
streets,  or  sat  silent  in  the  Capitol  Square.  Between  two  and  three 
o'clock  began  the  ordered  blowing-up  of  powder  magazines  and  arse 
nals  and  of  the  gunboats  down  the  river.  Explosion  after  explosion 
shook  the  night,  terrific  to  the  ear,  crushing  the  heart.  Up  rushed 
the  smoke,  the  water  reddened,  the  earth  trembled,  shells  from  the 
arsenals  burst  high  in  air,  lighting  the  doomed  city.  They  wrought 
a  further  horror,  for  falling  fragments  or  brands  set  afire  first  this 
building  and  then  that.  In  a  short  while  the  whole  lower  part  of  the 


APRIL,    1865  455 

city  was  burning,  burning  down.  Smoke  mounted,  the  river  was 
lit  from  bank  to  bank,  there  was  born  with  the  mounting  flames  a 
terrible  splendour.  On  Gary  Street  stood  a  great  Commissary  de 
pot,  holding  stores  that  the  Government  could  not  remove.  Here, 
in  the  flame-lit  street,  gathered  a  throng  of  famished  men  and  women. 
They  broke  open  the  doors,  they  carried  out  food,  while  the  fire  roared 
toward  them,  and  at  last  laid  hold  of  this  storehouse  also.  Loud  and 
loud  went  on  the  explosions,  the  powder,  the  ranged  shells  and  cart 
ridges,  and  now  came  the  sound  of  the  blowing  up  of  unfinished  gun 
boats.  The  smoke  blew,  red-bosomed,  over  the  city.  Through  the 
murk,  looking  upward  from  the  river,  came  a  vision  of  the  pillars  of 
the  Capitol,  turned  from  white  to  coral  —  above,  between  smoke- 
wreaths,  lit  and  splendid,  the  flag  of  the  Confederacy.  .  .  . 

Dawn  broke.  The  last  grey  troops  passed  over  Mayo's  Bridge, 
firing  it  behind  them.  There  came  a  halt  between  tides,  then, 
through  the  murk  and  roar  of  the  burning  city,  in  from  the  Varina 
and  New  Market  roads  a  growing  sound,  a  sound  of  marching  men, 
of  hurrahing  voices,  of  bands  that  played  now  "Yankee  Doodle" 
and  now  "  The  Star  Spangled  Banner." 

Through  the  April  country,  miles  and  miles  of  springing  verdure, 
miles  and  miles  of  rain-softened,  narrow  roads,  marched  the  Army 
of  Northern  Virginia.  It  must  guard  its  trains  of  subsistence.  But 
so  wet  was  the  country  where  every  streamlet  had  become  a  brook, 
and  every  brook  a  river,  so  deep  were  the  hollows  and  sloughs  of  the 
unutterable  road  that  many  a  wheel  refused  to  budge.  Supply  and 
ammunition  wagons,  gun  wheel  and  ambulance  wheel  must  be 
dragged  and  pushed,  dragged  and  pushed,  over  and  over  again.  O 
weariness  —  weariness  —  weariness  of  gaunt,  hardly-fed  and  over 
worked  horses,  weariness  of  gaunt,  hardly-fed,  over- worked  men! 
The  sun  shone  with  a  mocking  light,  but  never  dried  the  roads. 
Down  upon  the  trains  dashed  Sheridan's  cavalry  —  fifteen  thou 
sand  horsemen,  thrice  the  force  of  the  grey  cavalry.  Grey  rear 
guard  formed,  brought  guns  into  action,  pushed  back  the  assault,  let 
the  trains  move  on  — and  then  in  an  hour,  da  capo  !  Horses  fell  in 
harness,  wagons  had  to  be  abandoned,  others,  whirled  against  by  the 
blue  cavalry,  were  burned,  there  was  no  time  that  a  stand  could  be 
made  and  rations  issued  —  even  had  there  been  any  rations  to  issue. 


456  CEASE  FIRING 

Amelia  —  There  would  be  stores  found  at  Amelia  Court  House. 
That  had  been  arranged  for.  ...  But  when  on  the  fourth  Long- 
street  reached  Amelia,  and  after  him  Gordon  and  Ewell  there  were 
no  stores  found.  Some  one  had  blundered,  something  had  miscar 
ried.  There  were  no  stores. 

On  the  fifth  of  April,  Lee  left  Amelia  Court  House  and  struck 
westward,  with  a  hope,  perhaps,  of  Lynchburg  and  then  Danville. 
Behind  him  was  Grant  in  strength,  Sheridan  and  Grant.  .  .  .  And 
still  the  bottomless  roads,  and  still  no  rations  for  his  soldiers.  The 
Army  of  Northern  Virginia  was  weak  from  hunger.  The  wounded 
were  many,  the  sick  and  exhausted  were  more.  There  was  now  a 
great,  helpless  throng  in  and  about  the  wagons,  men  stretched  upon 
the  boards,  wounded  and  ill,  stifling  their  groans,  men  limping  and 
swaying  alongside,  trying  to  keep  up.  ...  And  then,  again  and 
again,  great  cavalry  dashes,  a  haggard  resistance,  a  scattering,  over 
turning,  hewing-down  and  burning.  .  .  .  And  still  the  Army  of 
Northern  Virginia  drew  its  wounded  length  westward. 

Sleep  seemed  to  have  fled  the  earth.  Day  was  lighter  and  some 
thing  warmer  than  night,  and  night  was  darker  and  more  cold  than 
day,  and  there  seemed  no  other  especial  difference.  The  monotony 
of  attack,  monotonously  to  be  repelled,  held  whether  it  were  light  or 
dark,  day  or  night.  Marching  held.  Hunger  held.  There  held  a 
ghastly,  a  monstrous  fatigue.  And  always  there  were  present  the 
fallen  by  the  road,  the  gestures  of  farewell  and  despair,  the  covered 
eyes,  the  outstretched  forms  upon  the  earth.  And  always  the 
dwindling  held,  and  the  cry,  Close  up!  Close  up!  Close  up,  men! 

11  Mighty  cold  April ! "  said  the  men.  "  Even  the  pear  trees  and  the 
peach  trees  and  the  cherry  trees  look  cold  and  misty  and  wavering  — 
No,  there  is  n't  any  wind,  but  they  look  wavering,  wavering  .  .  ." 
—  "  Dreamed  a  while  back  —  sleeping  on  my  feet.  Dreamed  the 
trees  were  all  filled  with  red  cherries,  and  the  corn  was  up,  and  we  had 
a  heap  of  roasting  ears  .  .  . "  —  "  Don't  talk  that-a-way !  Don't  tell 
about  dreams!  'T'is  n't  lucky!  Roasting  ears  and  cherries  —  O 
God!  O  God! "  —  "Talking  about  corn  ?  I  heard  tell  about  a  lady  ID 
the  country.  All  the  horses  were  taken  and  the  plantation  could  n't 
be  ploughed,  and  she  wanted  it  ploughed.  And  so  a  battle  happened 
along  right  there,  and  when  it  was  over  and  everybody  that  could 
had  marched  away,  she  sent  out  and  gathered  two  of  the  horses  that 


APRIL,    1865  457 

were  just  roaming  around  loose.  So  she  had  plough-horses,  but  they 
were  so  hungry  they  were  wicked,  and  she  did  n't  have  any  fodder 
at  all  to  give  them.  Not  any  at  all.  But  women  are  awful  resource 
ful.  There  were  a  lot  of  shuck  beds  in  the  quarter.  She  had  the  ticks 
ripped  open  and  she  took  the  shucks  and  soaked  them  in  hot  water 
and  sprinkled  them  with  a  little  salt  and  fed  her  plough-horses.  If 
anybody  stumbles  on  a  shuck  bed  in  this  march  I  speak  for  it!" 
Close  up  !  Close  up  /  Close  up,  men  1 

" '  Maxwelton  braes  are  bonny, 
Where  early  fa's  the  dew, 
And  't  was  there  that  Annie  Laurie 
Gaed  me  her  promise,  true  —  ' ' 

And  on  they  went  —  and  on  they  went  toward  Appomattox. 

In  every  company  there  was  the  Controversialist.  Not  cold  nor 
hunger  nor  battle  could  kill  the  Controversialist.  The  Controver 
sialist  of  Company  A  —  the  column  being  halted  before  a  black  and 
cold  and  swollen  stream— appealed  to  Allan  Gold.  "  I  ?  "  said  Allan. 
"What  do  I  think  ?  I  think  that  we  were  both  right  and  both  wrong, 
and  that,  in  the  beginning,  each  side  might  have  been  more  patient 
and  much  wiser.  Life  and  history,  and  right  and  wrong  and  minds 
of  men  look  out  of  more  windows  than  we  used  to  think!  Did  you 
never  hear  of  the  shield  that  had  two  sides  and  both  were  pre 
cious  metal?  The  traveller  who  said,  '  This  is  a  gold  shield,'  was 
right —  half  right.  And  the  traveller  who  said,  '  This  is  a  silver 
shield,'  was  right  —  half  right.  The  trouble  was  neither  took  the 
trouble  to  walk  round  the  shield.  So  it  is,  I  reckon,  in  most  wars 
-this  one  not  excepted!  Of  course,  being  in,  we've  done  good 
fighting—" 

On  moved  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia,  through  the  cold  river 
and  up  upon  the  farther  side.  Column  forward  /  Column  forward  I 
Flowering  fruit  trees  and  April  verdure  and  a  clearing  sky.  On  and 
on  down  a  long,  long  vista.  .  .  .  Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  tramp! 

"  '  Way  down  South  in  the  land  ob  cotton, 
'Simmon  seed  and  sandy  bottom  —  ' ' 


THE  END 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


CHRISTOPHER 


By  Richard  Pryce 


"A  refreshing  book  for  the  reader  who  knows  and 
loves  human  nature,  who  delights  in  the  quiet  realities 
of  life."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"  The  charm  of  the  story  and  the  leisureliness  of  its 
narration  remind  one  of  De  Morgan's  'Joseph  Vance,' 
or  Locke's  'The  Beloved  Vagabond.'  There  is  enjoy 
ment  on  every  page."  — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  He  can  draw  characters  —  aristocratic  old  ladies, 
maiden  ladies  and  ladies'  maids  —  which  are  unforget 
table,  and  he  describes  houses  and  rooms  so  incisively 
that  the  reader  can  share  them  with  their  occupants." 

—  London  Ptmch. 

"  Full  of  quality,  leisure,  and  the  possibility  of  keen 
yet  unhurried  enjoyment."  -  Life. 

"  A  brilliant  piece  of  work,  full  of  ripeness  and  an 
understanding  of  the  richness  of  life." — N.  Y.  Even 
ing  Sun. 

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